


Cruelty

by PromdynGeorg



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ardyn Izunia Redemption, BDSM, Bondage, Bottom Ardyn Izunia, Collars, Exploring Feelings Through Kink, Grief, M/M, Mentions of Past Prompto/Noctis, Not Episode Ardyn-Compliant, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-World of Ruin, Sex Fast Feelings Slow, Slavery, Top Prompto Argentum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 81,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25875952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PromdynGeorg/pseuds/PromdynGeorg
Summary: After the sun rises the gods make Prompto a gift of his old enemy, stripped of his powers and now only human. Instead of being left to his grief, Prompto has responsibilities to take up, a city to rebuild, and a captive ex-immortal who is too kinky to torture. This story is about redemption and recovery, but mainly just a lot of porn.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ardyn Izunia
Comments: 138
Kudos: 127





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you remember a kink meme prompt with this premise ages and ages ago, that was me. The idea wouldn't leave me alone, so here it is. The bulk of it was written before the Episode Ardyn DLC came out, so it's not compliant with later canon.

The sun kept rising. 

Prompto never had that solid a memory of the first week or so. He had the blur and noise of people around him. The smell of morning. Gladio hugging Iris and spinning her around until their tattoos where one jumbled map. Ignis with his visor pushed back and his eyes open toward the light. Talcott's truck bumping over the broken asphalt. People around him and the feeling of light on his face. There was so much to do to even start getting people back in the city, let alone getting the world back to normal, and he had to make a ton of calls and drive a ton of trips back and forth, and now instead of just being some leftovers clinging onto the planet they were real people again, and Noct was never coming back. 

That same pain was hitting Ignis and Gladio. By now they were so close Prompto could feel them even when they weren't in sight, like how you don't have to look down at your left foot to know it's there. 

There was practical stuff to get done and no time to just sit and hurt. Maybe that saved all three of them. Nobody wanted to leave Insomnia empty for another second, and that meant setting up camp in the streets while they found places that were in one piece and that weren't too full of somebody else's memories to handle. Prompto helped clear out some that were anonymous enough that they must have been somebody's AeroBNB, putting all his attention into his muscles so it would stay out of his brain, and it mostly worked except when he found out that the guys had decided one of the first and best places would be for him. For some reason it was the fact they'd managed to find him a mattress that made him burst out sobbing. Gladio had thumped him on the back while he tried to tell everybody it was great, he loved it, because it was and he did, it just sounded weird getting choked out through tears. But people understood. Breaking down at random moment was something a lot of people were doing more now than they'd ever done during the night, funny enough. During the second or third day Prompto had spotted a hunter who'd once taken a cut from a yojimbo's sword down to the bone without a quiver while he was sitting out on the grass with tears running down his face because a sparrow was hopping near him. 

So Prompto had a place to wake up on the day when Gentiana appeared. 

The first thing he was aware of was a chill that made him curl up tighter in the blankets. It was cold and Noct wasn't next to him, and all he wanted to do was lie there and let himself hurt. 

Gentiana's voice said, "Come to the Citadel's gardens." 

When he sat up she and the chill were gone. A dream, he figured, until his phone beeped with a _The hell was that?_ from Gladio and a more dignified version of the same thing from Ignis. 

_Guess we're going to the gardens_ , Prompto answered, and yanked on his clothes. 

It wouldn't be about Noct. Noct was gone. Even gods couldn't bring him back. Prompto knew that. It wouldn't be anything about Noct at all. 

He let the door slam behind him and hit the street running. 

Gladio and Ignis must have done the same thing, because they were at the Citadel's gates a second after he was. 

"What do you think she wants?" Prompto said. He tried to keep his breathing from coming too quick. 

"No idea," said Gladio.

"Perhaps we'll have to save the world again," said Ignis. 

"Heh," Prompto managed. "No rest for the wicked, huh?" 

The gardens were behind the Citadel, which didn't matter anymore, since there was no one in it. It was like a machine with a disconnected power cord. Prompto looked at the cracked pavement under his feet and felt the building looming, and hoped that maybe it'd just fall down. There was all that royal history in it, but now it'd never be anything but where Noct died. 

The shrubs that surrounded the garden had gotten high and overgrown through the night. Prompto pushed through them with the branches scratching him up on the way, and tried as hard as he could to be prepared for anything. 

He wasn't ready to see Gentiana standing there with Ardyn on his knees.

* * *

There was a cold that mattered. A clutter of green and white filled his vision. Something thrummed in him and drowned his hearing. He felt heavy and full, with solidity within the shell of his form. The flex of muscle, the pull of tendon. A force pressed the center of his chest that began subtly but grew more insistent every second until it was a terrible, encompassing grind. Without his intention, his mouth opened and sucked in air. 

Immediately he was rewarded with a wave of relief so sweet it made him tremble. Over the next few, impossible breaths, he realized that he was engaged in what had for two thousand years been a problem for other people. 

Ardyn was alive.

Shapes like trees walked toward him. The cold pressed against his right side like an affectionate animal. This was what _alive_ meant. His knees were on the ground with cold moisture soaking through them, his hands buried in grass that crackled with frost against his skin. Hours, he would need to understand the icy prickles between his fingers. Days, measured by the metronome of a beating heart. 

He had bowed to the king and been purified. The question was, purified into _what_? 

He had no time to consider the implications, not when he had the discovery of the sensation of wiggling his toes. Pressure wrapped in thin lines about his calves; the straps of sandals. Something light brushed his skin in many places; the simple white robes he had once belted about his waist every morning. 

The shapes were men, and there were voices. It was difficult to pay them any mind. Phrases like _he's supposed to be_ and _will kill him as many times as we have to_ were no match for the scent of grass and the sensation of cold air dappling him with gooseflesh. He felt himself one piece at a time, stroking the back of his hand to marvel at the texture of the skin, patting his way up his arms where the cloth pressed to him, pressing at his chest to feel the heartbeat from the outside as well. 

There was talk of prisoners and belonging. A woman's cool voice beside him said, "There is a debt to be paid." 

Three men gazed at him in varying degrees of confusion and revulsion. Yes, the last king's companions, he remembered. They were as difficult to recognize as the goddess, particularly from this lower angle. With a moment more, Ardyn understood that the change was not in the seen but the seer. In the flood of new sensations, it had escaped his notice that the core of bitter, bracing resentment that had sustained him all these years was gone. 

Was that chill by the name of fear? How interesting. How new. 

The Glacian said, her voice inexorable and calm, "He is now only a man. You who are marked, your power over him shall be absolute." 

There was quite a lot of argument. Ardyn could have told them of the pointlessness of debating a god, had anyone had the sense to ask. The numbness settling into his toes was nothing at all like that which he was used to. His hands explored himself, and in the wonder of finding warmth and a pulse at his neck, he nearly paid no mind to the collar. 

The little gunman was clutching his hand, lines that were not ink printed on the skin that showed through his fingers. Ardyn's eyes met his look of horror. In an instant the resurrected creature understood his punishment, and it was all he could do not to break down into helpless laughter. 

So he was to be a slave to one he had wronged, to live out the paltry eyeblink of - what - forty years at most in a fresh and fascinatingly sensitized body, tasting torment and humiliation at the hands of a handsome young man. 

Oh dear oh dear. What could he ever find to enjoy about _that_? 

By the lessening of the chill in the air, Ardyn knew the goddess had taken her leave. By the lessening of commiseration and argument, he surmised that at some point the two other humans had been convinced to do the same, and to grant his new owner privacy in which to begin enacting his punishment. He ran a finger up a blade of grass, the frost melting and leaving green in its wake. The grass crackled beneath his sandal as he shifted his weight and put one foot forward to rise to a proper kneel. If the divine wished to make him live in misery as a slave, why, he would live in contentment as the finest and most dedicated slave that could be asked for. The gods had used their power to make him a human, exactly the creature they were too fool to ever understand. 

The boy was staring at him as though he were a ghost. Appropriate enough from that vantage point, though Ardyn was freshly aware with every breath that he was made of flesh and blood.

"Shall I call you _milord_ , then?" he ventured. The act of shaping a necessary flow of air into words was intriguing in itself. 

The boy flinched. It could not have been long since Ardyn's death; he looked much the same as when he had crumpled to the Citadel floor at a touch of daemonic magic, though older in weariness and sorrow. "No." 

On his hand, the bits of black unhidden by his grip shone with a brief glow, and Ardyn felt the curious sensation of being bound by an intangible cord. He opened his mouth to attempt to shape the appellation, but his lips and tongue remained immobile to his superseded command. 

Prompto appeared to realize this at the same moment. "Stand up," he said, warily. 

Ardyn's hips and calves levered him upwards in an action of muscle he held no sway over. Once on his feet balance was left to him, managing bone and sinew like a system of levers and pulleys. "How intriguing," he remarked, gazing at the legs that had brought him here. 

The boy dropped his hands to his sides. He flexed the marked one. The symbol was intricate and appeared to have reflective symmetry, akin to a snowflake. "She said you can't hurt anybody. Is that right? Tell the truth." 

"Yes." The word fell from Ardyn's mouth with a speed that startled him, though the rest was left to his own devices. "Oh, how awful, to be defenseless and in enemy hands. I certainly hope no depraved acts are taken out on my poor, helpless flesh." He stepped forward as the boy said nothing. "Well. You could be a _little_ depraved." 

Wind wicked through the garden, warm with early sunlight. Prompto said, "This is funny to you." 

"A little bit, yes." 

"Or you're acting like it is, until you get a chance to get revenge." His voice and eyes were flat in a way that, a fragment of Ardyn's memory reminded him with a troubling insistence, an old healer would have considered a symptom. 

"What more revenge have I to to take?" Ardyn said, not ungently. "I won." 

The boy slapped him. 

The impact made his head ring as Prompto's hand stung across his face and lit the nerves. The force of sensation hit in a flood, fresh and startling, and lingered in a long receding wave of heat. It was fascinating.

Ardyn's head was tilted back, his eyes half-lidded. He became aware that Prompto was staring at him in a fresh and different horror.

"Shit," Prompto said, holding his hand as though it were a weapon that had unexpectedly discharged, "I didn't..."

Luxuriously, Ardyn breathed, "Do that again."


	2. Chapter 2

In the shade, Ardyn stretched. He rolled onto his side on his elbow in the sparse grass to better observe the figures in the distance toiling over the ruined street, where they rang with distant taps of tools and called instructions. There was nothing like the sight of other people's labor to add piquancy to a nap. His chin rested on his hand with, sadly, no residual soreness to speak of. 

The previous day's slap had proved not a prelude but a single faltering note. The boy seemed immediately resolved to ignore his charge with the same withdrawn forbearance with which he had once trudged across the tundra. In their quest to degrade Ardyn by making the former rightful king the thrall of the most common of the King of Light's retainers, the gods had given him to the one with the softest heart. He had even thrown Ardyn a blanket and pillow before pointing to the couch and ordering, "Sleep there." 

Besides, there was no resentment in belonging to someone who had done his fair share in vanquishing him. For the first time in two thousand years, there was no resentment at all. 

Ardyn had intended to spend the nighttime hours in the the usual futile stillness and instead soon found himself wrapped in oblivion's embrace. It had been a strange and wonderful experience that he soon had opportunity to repeat. 

As Ardyn watched, a distant woman in a helmet straightened and placed her hands in the small of her back, stretching out the soreness before she returned to diligently picking through the broken concrete of the shattered city. There was the squawk of a radio as others gathered around in conversation. Perhaps they had found an explorer's corpse.

He had earned this collar. 

He reached his arm out past the edge of the tree's shade and let the sun dapple his skin. The warmth was very different from the vague unpleasantness the touch of light had been before, now something his substance welcomed rather than rejected. He could spend all day attempting to absorb the vast unknowns of this physical humanity, and, in fact, had. That morning Prompto had left the apartment with a purposeful step and his prize in tow, and on arriving at where the mortals had decided to begin the project of repairing the city, had been drawn into the work so quickly that he had forgotten to give Ardyn any order but to stay in sight. 

Ardyn lay on his back and watched the blue of the sky. The boy had made the collar a secret and given no sign of revealing Ardyn's full identity and sins to the populace at large. Ardyn was glad of that; revenge was sweetest when it was personal. His soon-to-be tormentor just needed a bit of encouragement to get started. Something immediate to punish him for, such as wandering off to a pleasant meridian and flagrantly lazing. 

When the sun sank and stained the sky in pastels, Prompto trotted toward the tree, casting cheery farewells behind him. By the time he had reached Ardyn expression had dropped away from his young face, and he said only, "We're done." 

Ardyn yawned and gave his most infuriating smile. "Already?" 

Prompto turned away. 

They walked through the twilight city, picking over and around the debris and cracks that split the pavement. The sun's light did no favors to the area's wretched state. 

Perhaps Prompto would beat him. That would be the traditional place to start, an undifferentiated release of rage. Fists had a certain purity of expression. There were unlikely to be any whips to hand, but a thin branch would sting just as well, and a belt would have a delightful weight of impact. Or if the boy preferred to expend less physical effort, a bit of choking with the collar would not go amiss, and would likely involve ordering Ardyn to his knees. 

Prompto kept ahead, silent as stone, quick and surefooted. Of course, he would have traversed similar roads in the dark. Eager dread tightened Ardyn's stomach as his mind hummed with curiosity, envisioning what the boy was planning for him once they were in private. Perhaps he would prefer to keep his own hands clean and let Ardyn's newly mortal body do the heavy lifting of his torment. He could deny him food or water until he was desperate and begging for a chance to obey, or force him to simply stand all night, as he had not earned rest, and let him regret it all the more thoroughly the next day. 

After several minutes of following in silence, Ardyn could not help but test the flavor of his owner's wrath. 

"I had a lovely day," he said. "Tomorrow I shall have to bring along a book." 

Prompto turned, and the look on his face was vague bafflement. 

The boy had forgotten he was there. 

Distantly Prompto said, "As long as you don't hurt anybody I don't care what you do." 

He went on, and did not notice when Ardyn caught his foot on a chunk of concrete and fell several steps behind.

* * *

Prompto woke up, and that was too much. What he wanted to do was curl up and not deal with anything - not the sun shining in the window, not Noct being gone. He wanted to sink into himself and hurt for a while. Just cry, and sleep, and cry some more.

Wouldn't Ardyn think that was funny. 

The thought irked Prompto like lying on tangled-up sheets. As soon as it went through his mind he couldn't get comfortable again. Then his phone beeped, and he figured he might as well sit up. 

He answered the message and told Ignis he was okay. Then Gladio, too. Neither of them needed to come remurder anybody. Ardyn hadn't tried anything and Prompto was fine.

Well, one of those was true. 

Just like at camp. Get up, heat water on the portable stove, wash, dress, wake up horrible ancient monster on the couch. Make breakfast: instant oatmeal with peanut butter stirred in for protein. Two bowls. It was easy if you didn't think too much, and Prompto didn't seem to be able to. Eating and looking at the blue sky out the window took all his attention. Now and then he heard odd noises across the table, but it was just Ardyn. 

Last thing before walking out the door was strapping on his gun, buckling on the holster as carefully as he avoided thinking about why he finally had to use one. He intended the gun to stay there. He wouldn't kill Ardyn unless he didn't have a choice. Back in the garden when he'd accepted this he'd decided that, though it had been less of a decision and more a fact he'd been aware of about himself. It sounded all movie-hero to say _too many people have died already_ when really it was just math. He didn't want the world to have one more corpse in it. 

Prompto looked out the window at the shattered trees that lined the street and said, without any especial force, "It's not fair that you're alive."

Ardyn said, "The gods are many things. Never fair." 

Somewhere far away Prompto was as afraid of him as he should have been. He couldn't quite scrounge up the energy to care. It was like the sane side of him was texting _scared, scared, scared_ to a side of him that never turned its phone on. Anyway, there was a lot of work to be done. Getting water and electricity to the most intact buildings was step one. They had a leg up, since they had so much experience working with ruins. 

He headed out onto the road, hearing Ardyn close the door behind them. The sun on his skin felt so good he had to stop for a second and just let himself feel it. Ardyn, too, was standing with his head tilted back and the light reddening his hair and making his stubble stand out. His mouth was open like he was breathing the light in.

Out of decency, Prompto pretended not to see.

They got a lot of work done that day. Plans had been ready; Ignis had had faith that one day Noct would come home and set the world right, and he'd made arrangements for repair crews the way some people prayed. He and Gladio were in different parts of the city. This part was Prompto's. Well, nominally. Mostly he was just doing what people who knew construction told him to. Ardyn joined in on the work this time. Sitting somewhere out of the way must have gotten boring fast. A couple people recognized him as the former chancellor of Niflheim, but what people had been before the night had stopped mattering a long time ago. People vanishing and reappearing wasn't unusual, either. Only a few people in the world knew that he'd had anything to do with the daemons, and the order not to say anything about it or about the whole god-enslavement situation had held, so far. He kept his neck covered up with a scarf like he'd been told. That was the most normal-for-him part of the outfit, actually; Prompto'd had to scrounge something up to replace the robe thing he'd showed up in, and the communal clothing boxes didn't have a lot of choices for a guy that big. He looked weird in cargo pants. 

By the end of the day the street was full of big holes, but in an organized shoveled kind of way instead of a stomping-giants-and-explosions way. The way Prompto's body hurt was satisfying, like his muscles had taken on a little of the city's pain. 

There was one more stop to make before heading home. Prompto got in line at the delivery truck and picked up the weekly box. The fields and growhouses would keep putting those together for a while until normal farming got back into work. He'd heard there were supposed to be green apples this time. It had been ages since he'd had a good green apple. 

"For two?" Nadine with the clipboard said, and Prompto remembered to say, "Yeah." 

It was getting dark when he got home, which felt kind of like going back to normal. The sun would come up again, though, because of Noct. Prompto set the box down on the kitchen counter, turned on the Coleman lanterns, put some water from the tank in a bucket, and went to go wash and change. He didn't bother heating it up. He was hot and sweaty anyway, and the cool washcloth felt good. There would be running water soon. Hot showers, and no more hauling tanks around. That was a thing to look forward to. 

He headed back and paused outside the door. Strange noises were coming from the kitchen.

In the cold light thrown by the lantern on the counter, Ardyn had the box open and was chawing through a green apple.

Of course, Prompto thought dully. He should have known Ardyn would ruin any little good thing he could. Wrecking any petty human pleasure was his thing, just out of spite, especially if it was stupid and crude. It was just so—

Ardyn grabbed an onion and bit into it, skin and all. 

Less of course. 

He was through the onion in a few bites and into another, devouring them with total concentration, not seeming to notice the tears streaming down his face. Then he crunched through a raw potato and a carrot and started tearing into a whole cabbage with his teeth. 

And so it was that the first thing Prompto ever said to the reborn Ardyn as one human to another was, "Dude, you're gonna barf." 

Ardyn looked at him, cabbage held up like a half-bitten bowling ball.

At least he made it to the sink.

* * *

"Well, you didn't break any teeth, so that's good." Prompto clicked the flashlight off and Ardyn closed his mouth. "Man, what was that all about?" 

The lanternlight made Ardyn look almost sheepish. "This flesh's response to sensation is quite intense. Taste and texture are rather, ah, more compelling an experience than I am accustomed to. I am afraid I became...caught up." 

Prompto gave him a cup of water. "Right, you were just person-shaped daemons before." It was as weird to say as it had been to watch a bullet go into his head and squelch into harmless black goo. 

"And now I am..." Ardyn trailed off as he stirred the water with his fingertip one way and then the other. He lifted his finger, tapped it against his thumb, and watched the drops drip down. "Oh." 

There was something familiar about the entrancement on his face, and when Prompto placed it he broke into wild, slightly crazy laughter. 

"Oh shit," he gasped, trying to control it and not succeeding even a little bit. "You're— You're not a monster. You're a _really high guy_." 

Ardyn looked studiously out the window, then rinsed his mouth out with water again.

* * *

There soon emerged a rhythm to their days. Prompto would embark to a worksite, take part in the repair efforts, and return home. It was not the pattern Ardyn had glimpsed in possibility, wherein he would become encysted, left to quiet solitude and recalled only to maintain the petty necessities of his existence, like a pet grown unwanted. That tedious fate he had managed to stave off by simple dint of joining the mortals' labor. They had no reason not to welcome another pair of hands, and now and then, when he happened to be at the other side of a chunk of rubble, his unwilling captor would afford him a half-cognizant glance. Perhaps he expected Ardyn to lash out or cause trouble. 

It was something like the gardening projects the retired would take up. How could Ardyn object to a little work, when he had everything he wanted? 

They lunched from bags given out at a folding table, the boy now aware that Ardyn had to be watched. Each time Ardyn would approach a meal as the old habit of discarding matter into the void of himself for the look of the thing, and each time the flood of reward from his body would catch him anew and he would lose control of his expression in concentration over the contrast of savory peanut paste and cool, sweet preserves. 

"You, uh, don't eat the bag," Prompto said under his breath. 

"Right." Ardyn paused in lifting the shred of brown paper and decorously put it back. "Certainly not." 

A woman on the crew who was seated on the grass nearby laughed. "Old habits die hard, huh? Don't feel bad. I got hungry enough to gnaw on newspaper a couple times during the night."

From the others chiming in, it was not an uncommon experience. 

Prompto sat with one arm resting on a raised knee, bright and cheerful in company. As soon as he passed out of sight he dimmed like a failing lantern, but in public he never failed to perform. Sadly, these few days had given Ardyn no bruises other than those that came from stumbling over furniture or into walls (a thump, a called _Did you forget you can't teleport?_ , an eventual _...yes_.) Rather than give vent to his pain, the boy folded himself away. 

They returned to work, Ardyn walking behind a grizzled man who favored his right ankle. Stranger than fatigue or the need for breath was the ease with which old memories now came to mind, like reaching up in an absent gesture and having a fruit fall into one's hand. He recalled a herder who had once been brought to him with a jagged gash along his calf. Pain was an unreasonable creature, and the man had shaken his head fiercely and stumbled back, refusing to let Ardyn come within reach of the wound. Eventually Ardyn had asked instead to regard his boots - things of an unusual ocher color and quite soft to the touch, as Ardyn had observed. He had made a great show of his admiration, and by the time the herder caught on to his ulterior motive, the healing was complete. 

Prompto was struggling to lever up a broken chunk of concrete. When Ardyn moved to assist him, he returned a cold glare and redoubled his efforts to manage alone. 

Yes, there were times that required subterfuge. He mused over a plan, little knowing that it would be the boy who would act first.


	3. Chapter 3

Prompto was sick of not looking at him. Mostly Ardyn behaved himself, but he'd never really let him forget. Whenever Prompto was a good ways into ignoring the world around him and bubbling himself off into his grief, Ardyn would say something. Not even something cruel that'd be easy to shove off into a lump with the other pain, but something weird enough he had to think about it for a second. Like, when Prompto hesitated to give him a fork once they'd scrounged up some real metal ones, and he said _If you prefer, you could bind me and feed me by hand_ , so Prompto had to process it enough to say _Gross._

And he looked so proud of himself. 

He worked alongside them, and acted normal (Ardyn-normal) to everybody who didn't know what he was. He was funny and shady, just like he had been before, and you might believe he was harmless if he hadn't murdered someone you loved. Prompto passed a few of those strange, sunlit days digging down to replace busted water pipes and wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. 

One night he couldn't take tiptoeing around the bomb anymore. Might as well see how much it would take to set it off. 

"Hey. Come here." 

Ardyn did a sarcastic over the top bow. "As you command." 

He didn't like having Ardyn looming in the middle of his room like an oversized evil potted palm tree, and didn't like the way his eyes roved around the blank walls, but it was the only place with a bed (more importantly, a headboard). All the photos were packed away safe. The last time they'd been shut in a room like this, Ardyn had pushed the handle of Prompto's gun into his chest and left him there alone to notice that he had the key, then vanished. He always did that. Never let anybody get a hold on him. Always slipped away on his own terms. 

Prompto said, "Take off your clothes." 

Ardyn's purple eyebrows made upside-down U shapes. "Finally, you've decided to have a bit of fun." 

"It's been like a week." 

"As I said." Ardyn smiled. "Finally." 

He started doing it. He really did. He pulled his shirt untucked and undid the buttons, top to bottom. It was small on him; "almost" was all you could ask for from the clothes bins, especially on short notice. Prompto found himself watching with an odd blankness. A stripe of skin and purple chest hair appeared running vertically like a road down from the collar, and he was kind of curious how far Ardyn would take it. 

Prompto's eyes instinctively tried to dart away when Ardyn pulled down his fly, but he forced them to stay steady. It was just a zipper, like the ones on the backs of old movie monsters. He was just a man getting out of costume now, and he'd always looked like he was in something low budget with half a script. Only a middle-aged guy, fairly hairy, built strong and on the big side but not a bodybuilder, all an even goldish color only broken by the darker brown of the collar. He was just a man. 

_His dick's not even that big_ , Prompto thought, and had to bite the back of his hand to keep from doing a mad-scientist kind of laugh. 

He still loomed, though, with this quiet and expectant look on his face, and it made Prompto feel like there was a soundtrack somewhere stretching out a long, high violin note. He didn't like that. 

"Get on the bed. And put your arms up." 

Ardyn did it. The bed squeaked, but otherwise it was quiet. 

Prompto had thought this was out of nowhere, but he must have been planning it sometime when he wasn't paying attention to himself. He had rope. 

Doing the tying was more work that he thought. He kept banging his knuckles on the headboard slats while he tried to get the rope through. Ardyn's wrists were something like twice as thick as his own, and they stayed steady in position. The ankles went quicker with the practice. 

Prompto straightened up, stood by the bed, and looked down at him. Having him tied up felt safer. 

"I can do whatever I want to you," he tried to see how it sounded. 

If Ardyn was afraid he didn't show it. Maybe he didn't know how to be. "Indeed you can." 

Should he? Was he sick to even think about this, whatever this was? Everything was wrong, him more than anything. It was Noct he wanted to ask. He was lost and horribly alone.

"It's all right," Ardyn said softly. 

Prompto recoiled from the look in his eyes. 

"Forget it. Forget it. I can't do this." 

Maybe he'd imagined that moment. An instant later, Ardyn sounded familiar again, like his old nasty playful self. 

"Finished so soon, little master? What a pity. You have two things at the moment that could be combined to marvelous effect; a great deal of pain, and a very bad man." 

That he could deal with. Ardyn jerking him around was nothing new. With a deep breath, Prompto came closer, splayed his hand out, and, feeling like he was trying to make himself touch a hot stove, planted it on Ardyn's chest. 

He didn't know how ready he'd been for pain until it didn't come. It didn't sting or burn, and Ardyn didn't bite any fingers off. There was just the feeling of warmth, wiry chest hair, and breath rising and falling. He wondered if Ardyn thought it was weird that he was standing there with his hand on him for so long, then realized it didn't matter. It was Ardyn, and so for the first time, Prompto was with somebody whose thoughts and feelings he didn't have to care about. 

Prompto tried touching him more. He put his thumb in the hollow of Ardyn's throat, pushed a little, and watched the collar move up and down when he swallowed. He touched his face like he had a right (it was bristly on his palm), figuring that would make Ardyn mad, but he just breathed out and leaned a little into Prompto's hand. 

"Two arms, two legs," Prompto said quietly to himself. "You're just a guy." 

He felt each part to make sure, patting him down like he could be hiding a weapon. It was all very solid and nothing escaped. Biceps, forearms, hands, elbows that were smooth on the inside and rough with wrinkles on the outside at the bend. He used to have power you couldn't fight. Now he had nipples, and armpit hair. Tugging on it wasn't enough indignity to make him drop the this-is-funny-and-I'm-cool-with-it act. He was more patient than that. 

Prompto flattened his hands over Ardyn's chest. They looked small there. He felt down Ardyn's ribs like pawing down a cave wall in the dark. Ardyn's stomach was kind of soft, like any other older guy's, and moved as he took quick breaths. Prompto stayed there a while, tracing his fingers over the curve of the hip and watching Ardyn's toes wiggle. It was interesting to feel so cool and calm inside, and to do the kind of thing he'd never do. It let him be somebody else for a while. He felt up and down Ardyn's legs. Knees, calves, toes, pressing his thumbs into the arch under the foot. You never thought about monsters having something as normal as feet. 

Prompto looked up and noticed, "You're hard." 

"From nothing but the intimate caresses of a handsome young man?" Ardyn had the corners of his mouth curved up and his eyes half closed. "How deviant. Truly your slave must be disciplined. I suggest a sound spanking." 

It didn't cost Prompto anything to call his bluff by taking him by the balls and squeezing. 

He was more dedicated to going along with this than you'd think. Even that didn't get him to break character and snarl at Prompto to get his hands off or else. Instead he purred, "Dirty boy. Harder." 

Prompto let go. He stood and looked down at him, thinking. A guy like Ardyn knew how to lie, and that meant he knew the trick where you built things on a piece of truth. 

"When they brought you back, they got some wires crossed." He thought about Ardyn biting into a raw onion, him talking about sensation. "You said getting slapped felt good." 

"Indeed, though perhaps it was a fluke." Ardyn turned his face to show his cheek. "Try again to be sure." 

Prompto went to his dresser. One drawer had a tangle of wristbands people had given him whenever they stumbled on one. It was mostly out of habit that he still wore them, once his tattoo had started being a useful thing instead of an embarrassing secret. Being able to open Imperial doors and crates had come in handy a lot during the night. The one he pulled out and snapped on was a classic punky one all covered in spikes. 

He put some order in his voice and felt a tingle in the mark on his hand when he said, "Tell me when you want me to stop." 

Ardyn just looked curious. "Yes, little master." 

The spikes weren't sharp, since nobody really wanted to accidentally stab themselves with their accessories during a Slyphs concert. He had to press pretty hard at Ardyn's wrist and drag it along the inner arm with some weight behind it to make a long pink line. 

"Oh," Ardyn sighed. 

The other arm had to match. That was just fair. Then Prompto tried making little swipes at Ardyn's chest and ribs, listening to him breathe faster. The more Prompto did, the calmer he felt, as though a water table was tipping and all the feeling was flowing out of him and into Ardyn. He got pretty into drawing swirls and figure eights on Ardyn's thigh, like he was his own personal Zen sand garden thing. 

Ardyn murmured, "More." 

There wasn't any reason to say no, so Prompto pressed harder when he made circles around Ardyn's navel and squiggles up and down his chest, which was some work, since his canvas was squirming around. Still, it caught him by surprise when digging a spike into Ardyn's nipple made him come. 

It was a couple spurts onto his stomach, and some groans that mixed with the bedframe creaking as he pulled on the ropes. If he broke that Prompto would be legit mad. But he didn't, though he went limp sudden enough to bounce on the mattress. 

"Huh," Prompto said. 

He untied him and sat on the edge of the bed, playing with the wristband and drumming his toes on the floor. He didn't feel like he'd just done a sex thing. He didn't feel like much of anything, and that was kind of nice. Eventually he heard Ardyn sit up. 

Prompto said, "Here's my idea." 

Ardyn's voice was low and satisfied-sounding. "If it is anything like the last, I accept it with open arms." 

Prompto pushed the band in circles around his wrist. "I know you can find a way to screw things up or hurt people if you really want to, collar or no collar."

"You flatter my malice and ingenuity both." 

"I know you're gonna look for loopholes so you can do something horrible for fun. I can't outsmart you. But I can make you a deal." 

There was the sound of a long exhale. "A deal, you say?" 

"Yeah." Looking at it this way, Prompto could feel the whole insane thing start to bend into the shape of something that made a kind of sense. "If you're good and you work hard, and you don't make things worse, sometimes I'll hurt you." 

One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand. "Let us shake on the agreement." 

His giant hand used a strangely light touch. Both sides had some decoration around the wrist; the spiked band on Prompto's, and the rope marks on his.


	4. Chapter 4

When pulling hard enough to make the muscles on his arms stand out didn't make the ropes give an inch, Ardyn smiled and said, "Is this your first taste of power, little master?" 

He knew Prompto didn't like being called that. Prompto wouldn't give him the satisfaction of ordering him to stop.

Maybe he should feel or vengeful or angry, with the man who'd hurt him tied naked to his bed. He felt focused.

He wouldn't give him the satisfaction of answering, either. He picked up a scarf, and Ardyn lifted his head to let him tie it over his eyes. When it was secure, Prompto stood there and looked at him for a while. He looked odd wearing just that and the collar the gods had put on him. Out of curiosity, Prompto tried brushing his fingers lightly over his chest, then running the edge of his thumbnail over his nipple. The gasp Ardyn gave didn't make a lot of sound, but it made his chest lift up.

"You're pretty sensitive now that you're just a human, huh," Prompto observed softly.

"Mm," Ardyn said. His half-hidden face turned to follow Prompto's voice. "It's about time you indulged in cruelty. But please, employ some creativity. Whips are so cliche."

"I'm not gonna do anything like that," Prompto said. His fingertips kept playing with Ardyn's nipple. "It's not me."

He could see his pulse in his neck above the collar. It must have been strange to have a heartbeat again after so long going without.

"Besides," Prompto added, and something snuck into his voice a little like when he was giving somebody crap, "you'd like it too much."

Ardyn said, "You have me there."

"Knees up," Prompto said, all business.

It would never not feel strange to be obeyed.

Ardyn said "oh" when the toy touched him. Prompto worked slowly and carefully at pushing it in. He couldn't totally say there wasn't something interesting about how Ardyn's hips shifted, or about the hitches in his breath. When it was in fully, Prompto felt how taut the muscle was when he patted the side of Ardyn's thigh to let him know he could put his legs down.  
He used the rest of the rope to tie Ardyn's ankles to the foot of the bed. That made him spread-eagle, with his arms in a Y above him.

"Ah," Ardyn said, "how appropriate. A familiar pose."

"Do you remember what you did, back then?" Prompto said. "After you locked me to that thing."

"Who can recall the details?" Ardyn said. His composed voice was a little ragged at the edges, if you listened close. "It has been such a long time."

Prompto could have forced him to tell the truth. Not bothering was another kind of power.

He slipped his hand beneath Ardyn and flicked the toy on. Ardyn's whole body jolted, and his lips parted wordlessly. Prompto straightened up and watched him try to keep himself together for a while.

He said, "You left me there." 

For a few minutes Prompto left, but he came back soon to stand in the doorway and watch. He felt far away, like he'd coded a program into his body and now he was letting it run.

At first Ardyn didn't move very much, besides his chest rising and falling faster. Then it was something you could see in his muscles, just how they tensed and released. His mouth was open a little. He canted his hips to the left side, though he was tied too tight to manage much. His hard cock was resting on his stomach. His toes were curled, down by the posts of the bed that wasn't really big enough for him. When he swallowed it made the collar move. It was slow, but you could call it squirming.

Maybe the appropriate thing would have been to make the time equal, but Prompto didn't have any idea how long he'd spent on that cross. He'd been woozy from how Ardyn had decked him, and fear had warped time while he hung there slipping in and out of consciousness, alone with the insane thought that if somebody had come to torture him at least it would have been somebody. Then Noct had been there. Noct had saved him. So he couldn't measure, and that was a relief, because the idea of counting out minutes like some kind of petty revenge accountant chilled his blood with embarrassment.

Prompto's footsteps must have made noise, because Ardyn's face turned toward him. The scarf that covered half his face made his lips stand out. They were a deep color from how he'd been biting them.

Prompto gave him water, and he gulped down what didn't run over his chin. Prompto rubbed his arms, working his thumbs into the muscles. They got sore after a while up like that. He ignored the hums and sighs Ardyn made, since he knew they were on purpose. But he didn't really start making noise until Prompto reached under him and worked the toy in and out.

"Have me, little master," he said, arching.

Prompto said, "I'll gag you if you're not quiet."

He must have taken that seriously, because when Prompto dug his nails into his hip and he came across his stomach, he didn't make a sound.

He lay there on the bed, sweaty and with tangled up hair, waiting for Prompto to untie him. Prompto turned the vibrator up a click and walked away.

The resurrection thing must have made his body recover faster. The next time Ardyn came it was from Prompto raking his nails down his ribs. Then a bite to his shoulder. Then, a long, long time later, a hard slap across his face. By then he was trembling all over, and his hands kept folding open and closed. The front of him was painted. Every breath he took was loud and half made of whimper.

Prompto turned the toy off and took it out. Ardyn had pulled at the knots until they were tight enough he had to use a knife. If Ardyn got cut he'd like it, so Prompto was extra careful just to spite him.

He didn't move except to put his arms down. Didn't even rub his wrists.

Prompto sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the floor. The satisfying part was feeling so cold.

He couldn't say how long it was before Ardyn said, "May I speak?"

"I don't care."

Ardyn sat up and swung his legs over to sit beside him. He was moving slow. He must have been sore. His fresh body would feel that sharper, too.

"Did you enjoy that?" Ardyn said softly.

"It doesn't matter," Prompto said, slumping his shoulders under the weight of the awful joke of this. "I can do whatever I want and it doesn't matter, because nothing I can do to you will ever make you sorry."

Ardyn's fingers plucked at the bedsheet. His wrist was red. A clock ticked in the other room.

"I am, you know," Ardyn said. He wasn't looking up, either. 

Prompto didn't feel anything but tired. "I don't believe you."

"I know."

* * *

It was a thing that happened sometimes. Some rope, some slapping or scratching, Ardyn being weird about it. Simple as that.

* * *

The desk Ignis rolled the concept sketch out on was as organized as everything else in his office. He said half the trick was always keeping things in the same place.

“Before we begin budgeting for materials and labor, I wanted to get your opinion. What have they come up with?” 

Prompto's fingers smoothed the edge of the paper. He said, “He has a cape.”

“And his father's sword,” said Gladio. He looked away for a minute. “Looks just like him.” 

“Except bigger,” Prompto said. “And way more serious. I could never get him to look dramatic for a picture. He'd get it for like a second, and then he'd always crack up.” 

_Come on, you gotta look regal! You're gonna be on money and stuff!_ Which just made him laugh more. 

Gladio took a long, steady breath. He said, “He looks like a king.” 

“Kings gotta have statues, right?” Prompto said. 

“It will stand in the plaza, in order that the people may always remember,” said Ignis. “That is, if it's acceptable.” 

Prompto looked at the drawing of the big stone Noct with the sword in its hand and the crown behind its ear, looking out at nowhere, up where it would always be. 

“Yeah,” he said. He smiled. “It's great.”

* * *

Ardyn's little master came home wearing his fine Kingsglaive uniform and a dark expression, and said, “Strip and get on the bed.” 

“My, all business, aren't we,” Ardyn said as he obeyed. He raised his arms into position against the headboard in the way that in itself aroused him in anticipation of pain. 

In the place of a response, Prompto tied his wrists and backhanded him across the face. 

“Oh,” Ardyn sighed. The throb sank into his senses. “You _meant_ that one.” 

The next snapped his head to the side, and the one after that lit a lingering burn. Prompto's slaps had an entirely different texture when he wore gloves. His jaw was clenched and his lovely blue eyes were strikingly cold. 

“That was for someone, wasn't it?” Ardyn said. 

“That was to get your attention.” 

“Mm, you have it. Do go on.” 

Prompto unbuttoned his coat in rapid, jerking movements. He yanked it off, let it fall from his shoulders to reveal his shape, and unbuckled his belt. Ardyn's unruly human heart picked up speed. Would his little master indeed have him? 

Prompto pulled his belt free and held it doubled over in his fist. 

That was just as good. 

And yet, the boy hesitated. His eyes wandered as he gave it second thoughts, standing there beside the bed on the cusp of becoming ashamed. 

Ardyn said, “He is gone, and there is nothing you can do.” 

The lash was clumsy, more a jerk of reflex than a targeted strike. It painted warmth low across Ardyn's ribs. When he struck again it was across Ardyn's stomach and more sure. Ardyn let his mind wallow in the distinct glow of them. Prompto's arm drew back.

Ardyn said, “He is gone and I am here.” 

The boy gritted his teeth and gave him a sharp lash over his pectoral, and the end of the belt caught him with a special sting. He kept it up, then, a rhythm steady as dripping water, working his way down Ardyn's side to his thighs. Each was different depending on the angle and the lay of muscle the lash struck. Each deserved hours of meditation to appreciate. 

Ardyn arched into the blows and said, “The world moves on, as though his absence were not a crime.”

He felt the precise moment when Prompto let go. His lips drew back and his face became a wide-eyed mask of pain, resembling the ones a long-dead civilization would craft for the theater. He threw his full arm into the attack and the impacts cracked out against the walls. Heat poured down Ardyn's body, each moment brightened and renewed.

Raggedly he drew in breath. “It will never be fair.”

It was an entirely new quality of sensation when the belt crossed places that were already marked. The vigor of his little master's fury beat down on Ardyn like the full sun. The pain blended into a single layer of heat clinging to his skin, and his hands stretched and flexed in his bonds like a cat's kneading paws. 

Ardyn said, between gasps, “They sing praises of the gods who murdered him.”

“You did it!” Prompto cried out, and hit him across the chest again and again. “It's your fault!” 

“Yes, yes,” Ardyn said, neck arching, his fresh and reckless human body drinking in the purity of this anger. “Give it all to me.” 

The boy poured his pain onto him like black blood. He struck until his aim was wild and the lift of his arm was heavy, until his breaths were sobs. Ardyn was twisting in anticipation of the next when Prompto's arm fell and his shoulders shook. 

He flung the belt away, and the buckle rattled on the floor. He collapsed onto the bed like a man struck from behind, to land partially on top of Ardyn and wake the welts with fresh pain. His face pressed against Ardyn's shoulders. His body shook, wracked, and Ardyn felt wetness on his skin.

Eventually exhaustion took its toll. A patient always slept after purgation. 

Ardyn lay there with his little master against his side, feeling his still novel heartbeat in his bruises, and wished, for the first time, that his arms were free. 

The sky out the window was fading to indigo when the man against Ardyn stirred. Prompto's boot dragged along the sheets, and the press of his clothed body made Ardyn's welts sting anew. He remained quiet. Perhaps his little master would return to sleep. 

That time a life ago, he had been too busy to have much chance to look in on his prisoner through the monitors. What he remembered most clearly was strapping him into place and feeling the workman's satisfaction of a job humming along.

“Nmh.” Prompto's eyes opened, rather red. He stared for a moment before he seemed to remember where he was. “Oh shit. How long've I...?” 

He sat up, a shadow in the twilit room, and pulled free the knots around Ardyn's wrists. Ardyn lowered his arms. The ache in the muscles harmonized with the throb down the front of him. It was too dim to see well with mere human eyes, but he imagined his torso and thighs were quite a sight. 

Yet not one Prompto appreciated. He put his back to Ardyn and sat on the edge of the bed, head hung. Ardyn levered himself up, each movement exciting his welts, and took a place beside him. 

“The old philosophers,” Ardyn said, after some time, “called that catharsis.” 

Prompto made a vague sound at the floor. 

A slow heat inhabited the front of Ardyn's body. It would continue to echo his movements and keep him in a state of low arousal for days, but he had decided that even in private moments he would not impinge on his little master's property. However his role was imposed on him, let no one say he was not dedicated.

Ardyn said, “They believed bitter emotions could be brought to a head and expelled, much like an infection.” 

“So that's why you're into me hitting you?” Prompto said, his voice baffled as much as it was tired. “Some weird kind of therapy?” 

“Oh, it could be that, or I am simply a dirty old man.” Ardyn glanced toward the boy. “Of course, the old philosophers also believed that wool grew on trees, so, grain of salt.” 

That startled something from Prompto that might have been a laugh. Then certainly a laugh, a melancholy, wandering one as he rested his head in his hands. 

“Fuck, fuck, this is so insane. I don't know what to do with you or what to do with me. You're such a pervert that I, I can't even hurt you.” 

“Oh, you can,” Ardyn said lightly. “My pride, at least.” 

Prompto made a coughing sound. “You're such an asshole.” 

Pride had meant much to him in him mortal days, and nothing had brought him more than to find a means to cure every affliction brought before him. The gods were cunning, in their hateful way. They had restored him to what he had once been and set him in the flame of a pain he could not touch. There was no easy path, as they were, to a place where he could invite Prompto to run his callused gunman's fingers over the fresh welts, and let him forget. 

And yet tonight, in the thin darkness, Ardyn was permitted to press a kiss to the mark of ownership on his little master's hand.


	5. Chapter 5

Ardyn woke in the small hours of night. It was strange for the darkness to be any impediment to his eyes. For the first few days after his diminished resurrection, his legs had been battered and bruised from bashing into things unseen. He was growing more used to it now, though it remained novel to be dependent on the horizontal bars of streetlight that came through the blinds and the light leaking from the edges of the kitchen door. His little master would be paging through yesterday's newspaper, as he did when he couldn't sleep. 

He must have heard Ardyn sit up on the couch. Nights were so quiet now. 

Light framed Prompto in the doorway. He was in undergarments, as he always was when he slept. Ardyn had never seen him in less. Whenever he toyed with his property, he did so fully clothed and out of reach. He stood there for some time before saying softly, “You awake?” 

Later it would strike Ardyn that of all the things his little master would do, he would not wake a peacefully sleeping man. 

“Yes,” Ardyn said.

He could feel the weight of Prompto's gaze. His face was in shadow, the redness around his eyes assumed.”Then come here.” 

By a standing order, Ardyn was only allowed in his room on invitation. Prompto kept the door locked while he slept. He let Ardyn in and did not turn on the light. The moon stained a square of carpet pale blue. 

“Take off your clothes.” 

Ardyn removed the pajamas he had coveted and been bought by Prompto in a better mood. There were days when Ardyn's small shows of petty humanity pleased him. Prompto was pulling his ropes from a drawer, and Ardyn felt his blood stir in excitement. Perhaps there would be new bruises to savor. 

He was moving to get on the bed and place his arms in position when Prompto said, “No.” 

Ardyn halted. “Then what are...?”

Prompto lay on the bed and put his wrists against the headboard. “This time they're for me.” 

There was a heaviness in Ardyn's stomach. Prompto's eyes were steady and expectant, and the texture of this was wrong. His voice was light. “But that is my place. You shall make me jealous.” 

“Do it,” Prompto said. “That's an order.” 

Ardyn's own muscles nearly jerked him off his feet. Attempting to resist or hesitate would only throw him off balance, so he allowed his hands to tie his little master firmly to the headboard. Really, there was nothing to dread. Being human was making him oversensitive. Perhaps Prompto had become curious about the mechanisms by which pain became exquisite. Ardyn's veins warmed as he imagined introducing him, slowly and surely, and watching him come to understand. Perhaps a little scratching across the defined muscles of his stomach, or a few swats to his pretty rear. 

The knots were steadfast, and Prompto said, “Touch me. Make me feel good.” 

Startlement broke a smile across Ardyn's face. “Why, little master. I thought you would never ask.” 

It was more than he could have hoped. He began with Prompto's right arm. He knelt on the bed and kissed the inside of his wrist, then the fold of his elbow where he breathed his scent as his hands caressed the curve of his muscles and curled around his bicep. For a lean man he had exceptional arms. He was rewarded by the sound of Prompto's breath growing harsher. Naturally Ardyn could not leave the other arm neglected. To reach comfortably required swinging his leg across Prompto and straddling him, taking care to keep the majority of his weight on the mattress so as not to crush him, an action that won him a gasp. He turned his attention to Prompto's left arm, lavishing his fingers down its length, worshiping its turns as it flexed, tensed, and yanked violently at the ropes. 

Ardyn paused and lifted his head.

Prompto's face was turned away. “Keep going.”

Naturally he would be nervous at first. Ardyn kissed a shoulder clenched hard as stone.

He ran his hands down the planes of Prompto's chest and up again, over and over as he let himself get lost in the warmth of him. Had the feeling of a body beneath him always been so vivid? So firm, as well. Ardyn's hands were slow and soothing, seeking to relax him, kneading his hips and stroking the edge of his undergarment. How easy to become intoxicated with kissing his chest. For a moment Ardyn lay his face there and listened to the hammer of his heart. It took effort to remain steady. The boy's body was jerking as he struggled against the ropes, first one half of his body pulling with all his strength and then the other. He was hissing in air through clenched teeth, and each breath came with a thin whimper of distress. Cords stood out on his neck. His eyes were tightly shut. 

When Ardyn laid a hand on Prompto's pectoral, he flinched. 

Ardyn felt a sensation much like betrayal.

Prompto gritted out, “Who said you could take a break? Go!” 

There was the low sound of ropes scraping back and forth against the headboard, and the hips pincered between his thighs were shaking. 

It was not morals. Ardyn did not have those. It was a matter of personal offense. 

“If I refuse,” Ardyn said softly, “will you force me to continue hurting you?”

“This is what you want, isn't it?” the boy accused with the fervency of flinging himself into a monster's den. “Go ahead. Fuck me. Do it, I won't stop you.” 

Cold water poured down Ardyn's spine. 

When he was young, men and women alike had vied for his attention. They had waited for hours as he did his work of healing, in order to greet him with flowers and stand on their toes to reach up for his kiss. He thought he had forgotten their faces. 

He said, “I refuse.” 

“You can't refuse.” 

Ardyn swallowed past a dry throat. Anger was parching him. “I take exception to being used as a blunt instrument to punish yourself.” 

“Shut up.” Prompto's body jackknifed beneath him. “Do something!” 

Perhaps it would have delighted him, once, to bear such close witness to the perverse convolutions of the human heart. 

“No.” Ardyn struck his hands against the mattress to either side of Prompto with a force that made him jump. Close up, the boy's eyes were rimmed with white. Ardyn clenched handfuls of the sheets. “I will be your prisoner. I will be your enemy. I will gladly be your plaything. But I will not willingly be your hair shirt.” 

Prompto did not order him. He turned his face away and said nothing.

Ardyn got off of him and undid the ropes. He sat on the edge of the bed. Long moments later, Prompto joined him. However they circled one another, they always revolved back to here. 

“Well,” Prompto said, voice rough and weary, staring down as always, “congratufuckinglations. I'm still scared of you. That must be real funny.” 

Ardyn said, “Do I look as though I'm laughing?” 

“You're always laughing.” 

The air was chill against his skin. Heat and cold were more than academic notions, now. Were he to be wandering alone in a tundra, he would feel the bite of the wind. 

Ardyn said, “Was it of me?” 

“Hm?” Prompto said absently. 

“The dream that brought this on.” 

Prompto snorted. “Don't flatter yourself.” 

He fell back to silence. 

Ardyn stood and gathered up his clothing. He pulled it back on and went to leave. 

“Hey. Ardyn.” 

Ardyn paused in the doorway and looked back. “Yes?” 

Prompto was a shadow on the edge of the bed, bent forward, hands laced together.

He said, “What the hell is a hair shirt?”


	6. Chapter 6

They didn't talk about that night. After a couple days Prompto wasn't sure if it had really happened or if it had been a dream from too much running around trying to help organize stuff and get stuff done with a pet monster behind him surrealling up the place. He didn't have the time to worry about it, anyway, especially when he'd had a day full of meetings. Ignis and Gladio were way better at this stuff, but they couldn't be everywhere. Prompto was going to head to the shower (Running water! Hooray them!). He just sat down on the couch for a second first. 

He woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. Soon, it stopped. 

“Hello, you've reached the property of Prompto Argentum. If this is regarding official Glaive business, press one. If this is to solve an issue you could just as well handle yourself, press two. If this is to set an appointment to discuss solving an issue you could just as well handle yourself, press three. If this is regarding the nest of sahagin that have taken up residence in the swimming pool on Fourteenth Street, it has been well established that they have their territory and we have ours. If this is regarding a chocobo chick in a tree-” 

“Give me that,” Prompto said, and snatched the phone out of Ardyn's hand.

* * *

“When I mentioned interest in having you on top of me, little master, this is not what I had in mind.” 

“Quit trying to weird me out and stand still,” Prompto said, though it was pretty easy to keep his footing on Ardyn's shoulders. Not that he was real thrilled about getting touched by him. The hands steadying his calves felt so human and normal that it was creepy. “Hah, I knew I could reach, you're like nine feet tall. Here we go-- gimme a push.” 

He grabbed onto the fork in the tree trunk and hauled himself up. He reached up to the branch where the chocobo chick was clinging, all scrunched up as close to the trunk as it could get. Prompto didn't have any idea how it'd gotten up there, but it was definitely stuck. It looked at him and made a bunch of scared peeps. 

“It's okay, little buddy,” Prompto said, in the singsong talking-to-little-cute-things voice that he wasn't going to be embarrassed of because who cared what Ardyn thought about anything, “I'm gonna help you out. Just c'mere a second. Don't worry about the creepy guy down there. There we go. Nice and easy.”

Prompto had always had good balance, and it took all of it to reach out and get the round ball of feathers into his arms without falling out of the tree. The little guy cheeped and burrowed into his chest. He hadn't held a chick since back when it was dark. He'd been lucky to get the chance, then, in the whole crowd of people who had gathered around to watch the egg hatch and see proof that life went on.

“It's okay,” Prompto said quietly, stroking the fuzzy down on its neck. “I got you.” 

“Drop it here,” Ardyn called. His arms were open. 

“Not gonna happen.” Like he'd trust Ardyn with an innocent chocobo. 

“Do you really think I'd harm-” The look Prompto gave him was enough of an answer that he didn't bother finishing. “Do you intend to climb down one-handed?” 

“No problem." Prompto shifted the bird to one arm and started to finagle his way down. “I've done plenty of tougher- shit!” 

Prompto's grip slipped on the bark, and there was a split second of vertigo as gravity grabbed him. He wrapped his body around the chick and braced for the pavement to slam into his back. The impact into somebody's arms was a lot less painful than he expected, but just as much of a shock.

For a second, Prompto caught his breath in Ardyn's arms. 

“Are you all right?” Ardyn murmured, close. Way too close. Prompto snapped back to reality and pushed out of his grip.

“Fine,” Prompto said, getting his feet under him and a good clear distance. “Yeah. Fine.” 

He didn't like how Ardyn was looking at him, so he looked at the chick instead. It was fine too. Just a little ruffled up. 

Ardyn said, “I am glad I could be of assistance.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Prompto said, rolling his eyes. His life had gotten weird enough that Ardyn being annoying was what made things feel normal. 

As they set out to find a place to leave the little chocobo, Prompto got an idea about how he could be annoying back. 

He reached up, pushed the neck of Ardyn's shirt down so he could tug on the collar hidden underneath, and said, “Good boy.”

* * *

Just when Ardyn had been losing hope, his little master found a way to be truly deliciously cruel. The echo of the pull on his collar made itself known on his neck with every breath and desire paced the confines of him like a daemon in a cage. 

_Good boy._ Oh, his body wanted more of that. He wanted his hands tied behind him, his collar yanked until he had to gasp for the breath he now required, his little master's boot planted in the small of his back... They were such lovely boots. Having them on his shoulders had set a craving and left him with a lingering scent of leather.

Of course, he had no opportunity to say as much. As soon as the bird had been handed off to the agricultural sorts, they became part of a crew and set to work. 

Ardyn looked over the construction site, squinting in the sun. “Physical labor is rather ignominious, for someone destined to be a hero of legend.” 

“Cement needs mixing,” Prompto said, dropping a heavy sack into his arms, “so we're mixing cement.”

Ardyn had done far worse in his time. It was easy and pleasant compared to, say, dragging plague victims from the streets. He was mostly left to himself, though never far from his little master's watchful eye. It was interesting to watch him among the common people, blind to their admiration. It was also fascinating to watch the sunlight on his bare arms when he took off his coat. If only the intimate knowledge Ardyn had of those could come from a memory that was not colored by rejection. Watching him made Ardyn's skin prickle with heat. He put his eyes to his work and let his mind go back, again and again, to the sensation of the collar tightening playfully around his throat. For Prompto to touch that was vanishingly rare. He would treasure the exception, as well as the feeling of him landing in his arms. A windfall indeed. Life was full of little surprises. 

He followed the forewoman's directions, as they all did, hauling things here and there, amused by his fickle human body's preoccupation. The mere thought of that brief moment brought sweat to his brow and dizzied him. The low, sustained thrum of arousal sped his heartbeat, quickened his breath, and made his thoughts turn slowly like the light cast by a revolving lantern. How novel, he thought, as the scenery tilted and he hit the ground. 

Ardyn was dimly aware of a circle of people around him. Amidst the buzz of voices, two of them took him by the arms, levered him to his feet, and guided him to the shade of the mostly intact wall of the neighboring building. He sank against the blessedly cool brick. There was a _He'll be fine, I'll look out for him_ in Prompto's voice, and the others returned to their labor. His little master remained sitting beside him.

When words in Ardyn's head would agree to arrange themselves coherently, he said, “The gods' efforts were faulty. Already this flesh fails.” 

His final death would be hardly delayed after all. How anticlimactic. 

“What?” Prompto stared at him a moment, then snorted. He handed him a bottle of water. “You got heatstroke, dumbass.” 

Ardyn's sip from the bottle turned to gulps until his entire body slackened in relief. 

“I see,” he said, when the world seemed firmer. “It has been some time since I experienced such a thing.” 

“Yeah, I figured.” Prompto toyed with a bit of broken roof tile and stared out at the work in progress. His smile was faint and self-conscious. “I didn't know I could actually make you mad enough to get all quiet.” 

“Mad?” Ardyn said, slowly able to think clearly enough to restrain himself to steady sips. 

“I pulled a pretty dick move on you, messing with...” Though there was no one in earshot, Prompto's voice lowered as he pointed to his own neck. “...the thing.” 

“Oh, I have been driven to distraction ever since.” Ardyn gave Prompto a look from the corner of his eye and dropped his own voice accordingly. “Not by anger.” 

He knew it had clicked home when Prompto groaned. “ _Seriously?_ Is there anything I can do to you that _wouldn't_ turn you on?”

Ardyn let the cool of the wall soak into his back and looked out at the people at work. 

Prompto said, “Ardyn?” 

“I'm thinking.” 

He never was able to dredge up a satisfactory answer, though he was able to return to work and keep at it until the sun set. Hard physical labor was something Ardyn had lost acquaintance with. The soreness in his body did not have quite the same savor as the more intimate sort, but the feeling of a hot shower driving the sweat from his skin was its own variety of fascinating. 

So, too, was the way his little master had looked to the side, as though embarrassed, and said quickly, “You did good today.” 

Ardyn was to be very lucky this evening. As he emerged, wrapped in a towel, he passed Prompto standing in the hall. Though dressed, he too was fresh and damp, with his hair lying flat and framing his considering look. 

In his years, Ardyn had heard orators and oracles. He had been in the congregation at the Titan's Hand Sermon, in the audience at the debates between Campanus and Pergulum, and in the jury box when Avisare made his final argument. 

No word spoken by any of them had been half so inspiring as his little master's, “C'mere.” 

Naked on his master's bed, Ardyn put his arms up to receive his ropes. What his little master chose to do to him was not always of a sexual or painful nature. Once or twice he had only looked at him a while and let him go. Once he had planted his knee in the center of Ardyn's chest and touched his face, stroking his jawline and down his neck tantalizingly close to the collar, and allowed him to luxuriate in the texture of his gunman's hands. Thinking of it made Ardyn's blood quicken.

“If you are taking suggestions-” 

“I'm not,” Prompto said, binding him hand and foot. 

“-the back side of me has never tasted your belt, and that is hardly fair.” 

Ardyn had been quite hard even before he imagined the lash kissing him from neck to ankle. He pulled against the ropes to prove his helplessness and permitted a small _mm._

“Chill,” Prompto said. He was mobile tonight, and not in one of his cold moods. “So you said you'd like just about anything I could do, right?”

“Why yes, but you mustn't say so. You'll raise my hopes that you're planning something truly depraved.” 

Prompto sat on the side of the bed, placed his hands on Ardyn's arm, and bit him.

It was not a ferocious attack or a light nip, but a slow sinking of his teeth into the muscle of Ardyn's forearm. First sensation, then pressure turning to a gradually heightening pain. Just as it was becoming overwhelming the boy released him.

“Did that hurt?” Prompto said, appearing to forget that was the point. 

“Yes,” Ardyn breathed. “Give me more.” 

He did, steadily and relentlessly, working his way across Ardyn's shoulder and down his chest, letting his teeth kiss the curve of his pectoral. He left a trail of burning brands across him, and Ardyn was dizzied to look down and see the sets of red half-moons left on his skin. Prompto was thorough. He did not neglect the other shoulder. Ardyn's senses were flooded with the contrast between the throb of the previous bites and the wet heat of the one currently being laid upon him. Prompto continued down his side and to his hip, gaining ease and confidence, now and then worrying a bit of flesh between his teeth. He held Ardyn down by the thighs and found purchase on his stomach. Each bite turned cool immediately in the air as he moved on, and Ardyn's shiver made the ropes tighten around his ankles and wrists. The heat of Prompto's mouth and the tickle of his beard mixed with the sting of his teeth into pure intoxication. Ardyn made no effort to suppress his cries. Those belonged to his little master as well. 

Prompto started at Ardyn's outer thigh and worked across. When his teeth sank into the sensitive inner flesh, Ardyn's gasp came in a shape he had not intended. 

The boy looked up, his blue eyes alert. “What was that?” 

He scraped his nails against a bite mark on Ardyn's ribs, and Ardyn said, “Please.” 

His hand wrapped loosely around Ardyn's cock and was still. “Again.” 

“Please.” 

“Like you mean it.” 

“Please.” 

His hand broke into motion around Ardyn's cock as rapidly and harshly as he bit into Ardyn's thighs, in no pattern now but viciousness, and the sweetness and sting melted together until Ardyn cried out and convulsed in the ropes and felt wetness splatter across his stomach. 

The aftershocks of ecstasy left him shuddering. Unusually, Prompto did not immediately let him free. He sat on the bed beside him, where Ardyn could feel his warmth and be brushed by the hem of his shirt. With his fingertips, Prompto traced a particularly lovely mark high on Ardyn's chest. 

He said, “Yeah. Good boy.”

* * *

"Your hair's weird." 

"Hm?" Ardyn said, and half-opened his eyes. His face was resting on Prompto's thighs, and he had little inclination to lift it. 

"Look." Prompto wound a lock around his finger, then let it free. "It always goes right back to wavy." 

"So it does," Ardyn said, making the effort to keep his eyes open as his little master's hand combed through his hair. "It is very stubbornly itself." 

"Figures," his little master said, sounding amused. His fingers wandered down to Ardyn's neck, where he toyed with the edge of the collar. Ardyn sighed and arched his neck into the sensation. 

"Hey Ardyn?" said Prompto.

"Hm?" Ardyn focused on the couch beneath his body and Prompto's legs pillowing his head to keep the scene clear. 

"Can you just...stay there for a while? Feels nice." 

"Of course," Ardyn said. 

Prompto's fingers brushed through his hair, smooth and hypnotic, trailing down to his neck to scratch lightly. It was another interesting feature of Ardyn's purified and reborn body that his dreams were so much more lifelike.


	7. Chapter 7

They'd been hauling rubble out of what had been an office building all morning when the clouds finally cleared up. Prompto took a few steps out of the empty doorway and had to just stand there for a minute with the box of junk in his arms, feeling the warmth on his face and letting the light soak through his eyelids. He used to close his eyes in front of the fire and try to pretend, but it didn't work very well. The sun smelled different and it warmed every part of you, strong and even.

“Thanks, Noct,” he said softly. 

“Who are you talking to?” 

The voice came from a little girl standing a few steps from the doorway, back in the shadows. There weren't a lot of options in the way of looking after kids yet, so sometimes they came along to the jobs that weren't dangerous. 

A little embarrassed to get caught, Prompto tipped his chin up at the sun and said, “Just the guy that made that happen.” He peered at her in the shadows. “You gonna come out? It's nice.” 

The girl didn't look like she believed him. A lady walked by her carrying a box that jangled and said, “She was born in the middle of the night. It's not so easy to get used to.” 

After a minute the girl edged out, squinting, and walked with Prompto toward the curb where people were sorting out the salvageable furniture and usable stuff from the junk. One of them was Ardyn. Him being around people put Prompto on edge but they needed all the hands they could get, and the collar was supposed to keep him from hurting anyone. Anyway, he went along with it. 'Pretending to be normal' was on the long list of weird things he thought were funny. Plus the other reason he behaved himself. 

“How'd he make the sun come back?” the girl said. 

“He...” Prompto shifted the box in his arms and tried to think of a way to say it that was mostly true. “He won a fight.” 

“Like with a monster?” 

“Yeah,” Prompto said, and inspiration hit him as slow as the smile on his face. He set the box down on the pile. “There was a big, slobbery monster. Giant teeth. Super scary. It was wrecking stuff up like it owned the place. Real ugly, too.” He made a face at her and she laughed. “Like, special ugly.” 

“He beat it up?” the girl said, over the sound of Ardyn coughing. 

“He sure did,” said Prompto, with a pang and a pride that both hadn't faded. “And that got rid of all the monsters for good.” 

By the time the sun was setting and the place was cleared out, Prompto had forgotten about the whole thing. While the streetlights flicked on, they headed home.

“I,” Ardyn mentioned, gliding along next to him, “have never slobbered.”

* * *

The next day's job was cleaning out and patching up the less damaged houses. The first part meant going in with a whole team and taking stock, seeing what'd happening and what could be fixed. There were some low, solemn conversations about how much had been lost, right up until they were interrupted by Prompto running out of a room yelling “Roaches roaches roaches!” 

They'd gotten their assignments from Junia, the lady in charge, and were split up into separate areas now. Prompto and Ardyn were patching up the kitchen. They were on their own for a while. Prompto kept glancing at Ardyn with the question bouncing through his head, until he finally had to give in and ask. 

“Why do you know how to hang up drywall?” 

“Oh, I've had all sorts of professions in my time,” Ardyn said, getting the sheet square. “Contractor, curator, herdsman, cultivator of fine teas, itinerant doomsayer...” 

Prompto's laugh surprised him and came out half through his nose. 

They kept working for a while. He had Ardyn show him how to do it. Ardyn was in a long-sleeved shirt with a high neck to hide all the bite marks along with the collar. It was hard to imagine Prompto had really done that. Bit him. Whenever he did something like that, it was like he wasn't making the decisions, just riding along. 

Prompto pushed at some putty in a bucket with his trowel. There was something else that had been bothering him, and something he needed to say.

“Don't get the wrong idea,” he said, looking at the wood slats through the hole in the wall. “You're not fooling me.” 

“Hm?” 

“You can make me laugh. You can even make me like you.” Prompto stirred the putty around in circles. “But even if you spend the rest of your life fixing what you broke – and you're gonna – I'm never going to stop hating you.” 

Ardyn's trowel made scraping sounds. “I know.” 

“Sure you do.” A cockroach scuttled out of the wall. Prompto waited for it to get close enough and stomped it flat. 

“Prompto.” 

There was a significant, heavy sound in his voice that made it hard to appreciate he'd cut out the 'little master' crap for a minute. 

The sympathetic look on his face made the hairs on Prompto's neck stand up. 

Ardyn said, “You cannot think I, of all people, would fail to understand holding a grudge.”

* * *

Hey, Noct. 

How's it going where you are? I bet there's clouds and stuff, and you're hanging out with Luna. You and your dad must've talked for a long time. 

Things down here are going all right. Everybody's working really hard to get the world going again. Gladio's out leading the teams getting all the farmland back, herding all the wild animals into their own territory. As for Ignis, he says he's just helping some while we get a government working, but everybody knows he's basically running the place. Once stuff's up and handling itself, he's going to start that restaurant he always wanted. I can't wait. I'm gonna get to sneak all kinds of stuff. 

Me? There's not much special I can do but there's plenty that needs doing. I just help out whoever asks, like you always did. I spent all yesterday digging up the street to fix some burst pipes. Super glamorous. It wasn't on my own, though.

Oh. Yeah. I'm not really ever on my own anymore. 

You remember that story we had to read back in ninth grade? The one with the daemon's claw you do wishes on, and it gives you what you want but it messes with you. The one I got a lousy score on my paper for because we were supposed to talk about the theme or something, but dude, you can't give me a story with maybe a zombie in it and then try to make me talk about anything besides 'is there or is there not a zombie.' Come on! 

Anyway. I always hated being alone, and now I'm not, because there's Ardyn. 

Yeah.

He's my problem now, emphasis on 'my.' Gentiana – well, Shiva, I guess – she showed up and dropped him on me. She said he's a human now and this is his last life. Said he's harmless and totally under my control. At least the second part's true. I can just say something and concentrate, and this thing on my hand makes him do it. It's kind of cool and also kind of creepy and awful. 

Shiva called him a gift. Everybody was just standing there looking at me. What I should have done was whip out my gun and blam! “Hope you kept the receipt.” Like an action movie badass. 

Noct, I think the reason I didn't kill him was it would've been awkward. 

So now the guy who wrecked the world is sleeping on my couch. He's helping put the world he broke back together. I guess seeing everything he did in the light of day might make him feel guilty, if guilty was a thing he could feel. He wouldn't be bad to be around, if he was somebody else. (This is one of those times when I say, “Does that make sense?” because I know it doesn't, and you say, “Sure it does.”) I think I'm supposed to be his punishment. I kind of try sometimes. It's so messed up, and the person I want to talk about it with most is you. 

Yeah, there's weird sex stuff. Don't judge me. Not actual sex. Just smacking him around some. 

I know what the moral of the story always is. Getting your own back never helps, revenge is hollow, all that stuff.

The truth is hurting him feels good. 

He likes it, though. Does that make it better or worse? 

Whatever happened to yank all the monsters out of him and make him humanish, it got some wires crossed. I think what it is is, any kind of sense thing feels good. I caught him sucking on a lemon slice the other day. It's anything, really, but he acts super into me just to freak me out. 

I'm not gonna give him the satisfaction. 

I don't even have to use the thing on my hand hardly ever. He does whatever I say. I think he thinks it's funny. I don't know if it's true that he's not dangerous anymore, but he doesn't have the weird daemon powers, like the stopping time or the turning into other people. That's good. Otherwise he might offer to look like you for me for a while, and I don't know if I'd be able to say no. 

It's weird. Sometimes he's just a guy I know, or he's just this kind of funny weirdo around me.

Sometimes I hate him so much I can't breathe. 

Hey. You know what else is weird? I don't dream about the bad stuff much. The stuff that was a nightmare when I was living it. I did some, right after, but I don't anymore. What I dream most is I'm supposed to meet you somewhere, and I'm late. The other night I woke up and I was halfway dressed before I remembered. 

I guess soon I'll be able to see you a lot. A statue, I mean. They're – we're – gonna put one in that big plaza outside the palace. It's this big, serious thing, all stern and kingly. They showed us pictures. It's not you. It's cold and horrible. I can't figure out a way to say it, but I wish I could show people all the little things that were you. Ignis says people need to remember what you did. You'd figure they would from, you know, the sun coming up. 

I wonder if I'm the only one who watches that and says thanks. I'm sure I'm not. 

But I figured something out, with Iggy and Gladio. It was my idea. I'm kinda proud of that. Anyway, I found a sculptor, somebody who'd been making stuff all through that ten years. Did you know people did that? Even when things were hard, and we didn't know if we'd get through it, they still did art. That's people for you. Anyway I found one, and there's gonna be another statue. A little human-sized one, sitting fishing off the the end of Galdin Quay with a cat right behind, looking out at the sunrise. 

That'll be ours. 

Funny how art can hold onto those memories. Remember when we were in the gallery right outside the throne room? It was so weird to be in the empty palace. We stayed there for a while, looking at all the paintings we'd never really thought about before. All I could think about was how we were about to lose you and there was nothing we could do. It was all so much bigger than us, all this king stuff, and it was going to swallow you up. You were the one who could think about how it'd swallowed him up, too. You talked about how he'd always been alone. Even when you knew everything he did, and what was going to happen, you weren't mad. You gave that picture that long sad look, like you forgave him.

I'm not strong like you, Noct.

I don't know if I ever can.


	8. Chapter 8

The demands on Ardyn's little master's time were many. On days when Prompto was relatively free, he would take them both to join one of the crews and turn his restless energy to the task of restoring the city to its former glory. It was, like nearly all imaginable activities, nothing Ardyn hadn't done before. Disaster was the rule of history, and now and then he would amuse himself by lending a hand, those times when a functioning civilization in the area would be a convenience. He never took on a leadership role. There was no profession quite so thankless as shepherd. 

Today it struck him that the damage he picked over and patched belonged to him, and to all that had been in him. It gave him pause, as it sometimes did. He crouched by the remnants of a wall and drew his thumb over a gouge in the brick. It would have felt like crumbling earth, to claws. The sensation was a faded lithograph, a murmur told to him by someone he had once known. He was empty of them now, and filled with far older memories.

“You in there?” 

Ardyn raised his head and let his hand fall. “Yes, li--” he glanced about at the rest of the team at work, and though none appeared in range, amended, “Yes, I am.” 

Occasionally he would indulge in a cheerful _Awaiting orders_ and watch Prompto roll his eyes, but now was not the moment. His little master was holding a long, thin branch, and fiddling with a pocket knife.

“I need to go talk to the guys. You stay here.” He trimmed a twig away from the body of the branch. His voice was low. “I don't want them to have to see you.” 

He spoke with his eyes averted. It was fascinating what prosaic things embarrassed him.

“Of course,” Ardyn said, though it was a mild surprise. Usually when Prompto went to speak to the last king's other retainers, Ardyn was left at home. He'd never before been left among other people without his watchful eye. Another little milestone. 

“I'll be back in a while. And hey.”

The significance in his voice drew Ardyn's eyes away from the clawmark in the brick. Prompto was turning the stick between his fingers, gloved as always. The god-inflicted mark of ownership on his hand was something only Ardyn was allowed to see. His little master set the stick on top of the wall. It was long, trimmed smooth, slender and whippy. 

Prompto caught his eye and said, “Be good.” 

The boy was learning to take full advantage of the weaknesses of Ardyn's flesh. As Ardyn worked he glowed with quiet pride as well as anticipation. He could laugh at how easy he'd become to control. Two thousand years of being beholden to no one alive, and now it took nothing but the thought of a switch's kiss to assure his diligent labor and make his body pliant with desire.

For all his tedious self-righteousness, the healer of so long ago would have found that funny.

When the sun set, Ardyn straightened a back that was now capable of aching and watched the sky turn orange over the hollow buildings. 

The solemn-faced little girl who had been watching him said, “It's weird that monsters don't come out anymore.” 

“Lonely, isn't it?” said Ardyn. “Much like a forest where the creatures have been hunted to extinction. Ah, well. Every species has its fleeting moment in the sun.” 

She looked at him for a while and wandered off. 

Shortly after full dark, Prompto returned to retrieve his property. Ardyn did his best not to let any unseemly anticipation show, and could have laughed at how his little master made that so much more difficult by idly swishing the stick by his side. He was in a good mood and had a natural genius for toying with a captive. If only he were to allow himself to enjoy it. 

That thought and the accompanying images kept Ardyn preoccupied until they'd returned home. 

As Prompto was hanging his coat in the closet, he said, “All right, clothes off, on the bed, facedown. Think you can do that quick?” 

Ardyn had already begun. Soon he lay with his face against the cool sheets and his arms up in the proper position. The binding of his wrists to the headboard was accompanied by brightly tuneless humming. 

“Aren't we in high spirits,” Ardyn observed with interest when he was secure in his place. 

“Yep.” The voice came from above him to his left and was underlain with the sound of the switch cutting back and forth through the air. “I kind of figured something out.” 

“And what would that be?” Ardyn said with half his mind, the rest being busy imagining the strikes that were to come. 

“Tell you later. Get ready!” 

Ardyn braced himself as he heard the whistle of the branch through the air, body tight for the impact-

-and jumped when it was a featherlight tap on his shoulder. 

Prompto said, “Just kidding.” 

Ardyn's muscles slackened, and he let out his breath. 

The first real strike caught him across the middle of his back and entirely off guard. 

A few rapid licks fell across Ardyn's hips, and his mind sank into the sensation like a hot bath. As quickly as they began they stopped, leaving a sweet but insufficient tingle behind. Ardyn made a questioning noise into the sheets and turned his head toward where Prompto stood. 

“Ah-ah.” A chastising blow nipped his right shoulder. “No peeking.” 

Ardyn turned his face to the other side, closed his eyes, and accepted his little master's gift. 

This was no steady flurry of lashes like the ones from his belt that had come in rage and sorrow. It was an utterly unpredictable pattern of proper blows, pauses that threw Ardyn's body off the tempo, and teasing touches that made his muscles jump when the expected pain did not come. It was no use trying to suppress the reaction, and soon Ardyn ceased the effort. He let his body twitch at the touches and arch into the staccato of the firm lashes. He never knew when or where the next would fall. Lashes stung his shoulders, his thighs, the small of his back, his rear, leaving lines he felt as a glow through the darkness, an ever more intricate spiderweb of sensation. Trapped beneath him, his cock ached in sympathy. 

The tip of the switch teased along the welts on his back, then snapped a set of strokes on his ass that set him writhing in his bonds. Now it was brutal, quick, and constant, an outpouring of exactly what he craved that drove the breath from him in gasps and set his hips thrusting against the bed, a flurry of whipcracks against his defenseless body that battered him to the precipice of ecstasy. 

It stopped. 

“Hey man,” Prompto said, “you okay?” 

Ardyn made a bereft, uncomprehending sound. He pressed his face into sheets that had Prompto's scent. “Don't stop.” 

“You sure?” His voice was sweet and solicitous. “You look pretty stressed out. Wow, your ass is red.” 

His fingers trailed over the welts in a light caress that made Ardyn hiss. 

“I am quite well,” he managed through the delirium of lust, tugging at the ropes. If his little master were to take him now each movement of his body would make the marks sing fresh pain. “Do continue.” 

“We could take a break. I could let you hang out here for a while, maybe take a shower, go grab some dinner...” 

“Prompto,” Ardyn groaned. 

Prompto laughed. “So that's what it takes to make you cut out the 'little master' stuff. Tell you what, I'll keep going, and if you get off that's fine, I'm gonna make you change the sheets anyway.”

The tip of the switch brushed a meandering path down Ardyn's back, and his hips shifted into the mattress. Each movement made the bright marks of sensation make themselves known from his neck to his calves.

“I'll believe you're okay if you can keep real still.” 

Ardyn froze. 

It was long enough that he feared he would get nothing more before he heard the switch whistle through the air. 

It laid a burning line along his thighs, then gave him all he needed. Over and over it fell with his little master's real strength behind it, marking him and lavishing heat on a body half-mad with desire. Ardyn clutched the bedposts and locked himself motionless, thinking of nothing but the lash and the need to be still. 

He would take great pride in succeeding. There was only the jerk of his lower body when he thought _Yes, yes, punish me_ and released with a small, sharp cry. 

Ardyn breathed raggedly for a moment, and remembered to open his eyes. The switch's innumerable kisses laid warmly on his skin. He was somewhat adrift in satisfaction and knew he could happily lay there for some time, were his little master not about to untie him and send him on his way. 

Prompto sat on the edge of the bed. The belt of his Kingsglaive uniform pressed against Ardyn's bare side. 

“So actually,” he said, as though resuming a conversation, “we're kinda just getting started.” 

Ardyn's heart performed a genuflection.

Prompto's hand slapped down on the tender flesh in the center of his back and startled a gasp from his throat. 

“Thing is, I wanted to talk some.” 

He stroked Ardyn's back in a way that would ordinarily be pleasant enough, and that was elevated to delicious by the fresh, stinging injuries he idly tormented. The marked skin was sensitized to the texture of his glove. 

“I wanted to ask you some stuff. I figured this was a way to do it and keep you from getting all dodgey and...you.” 

“How devious.” Ardyn gazed across the plain of sheets at the ivory wall. The subtle pain Prompto coaxed from him was like a lull of strings in a symphony. “You have my compliments.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” His voice was unconcerned. “I guess I could use the thing on my hand to make you tell the truth, but I'm not real into doing that. I'm gonna leave it up to you. It's a pretty logical thing. If I like what you say, I'm gonna wanna play around with you more. If I don't, I'm not. If you really bum me out, I'm gonna have to walk away.” 

Prompto consistently referred to the mark of ownership, the gods-given seal that bound the fallen immortal king of daemons to his will, the indelible stain that made him the center of Ardyn's consciousness and the lord of his fate, as “the thing on my hand.” 

Ardyn's fingers stroked the ropes knotted around the headboard. His own bonds were all he could reach. “Should I answer well enough, will you have me?” 

Prompto's nail ran along the length of a whipmark and made Ardyn suck air through his teeth. “Dude, I have sex with people I like. I don't care how zombie-horny you are, you made me shoot my giant robot monster worm dad. I am never gonna be super thrilled with you.” 

Disappointing, yet fair. 

Ardyn felt the need to point out, “He deserved it.” 

He remembered pride at the maneuver. He'd both gotten rid of a potential source of trouble and given the last king's companion some much-needed accomplishment. Seen through the monitor, the pain and terror of the boy grappling a half-daemon had been the raw materials of character. 

Ardyn's attention was stolen away from memory when Prompto dragged his nails lightly over the topography of raised lines that criss-crossed his spine, and his chest swelled with gratitude. 

“So what was it like,” Prompto said, “being all full of monsters?” 

“Powerful.” Ardyn's mind was occupied more by the delicate sting of his little master's caress than the words that meandered from his mouth. There was wetness against his stomach. He was growing hard again. “Like a disease that makes one invincible. Like living in occupied territory with an enemy force that is listless and bribeable, and who become more sociable than your neighbors. Like a quarantine or a congregation.”

Prompto's hand grew heavier. His thumb rubbed ungently over a place near Ardyn's side where a rough bit of bark on the switch had left an abrasion. Ardyn melted into the mattress at the bite of bliss. 

“The stuff you did, how much of it was their fault?” Prompto's voice was studiously careless. 

Ardyn fell silent, so as to better appreciate the ache.

Prompto's hand left him and did not return. The air was cold on his bereft injuries. Ardyn made a soft sound of protest and rotated his wrists against the coarse rope of their bonds. It was interesting how quickly the lack of pain progressed from disappointing to unbearable. He held out for a count of eight before it was no longer worth holding back what had once been a point of pride. 

“From first to last,” he spoke toward the wall, “my mind and my resentment were my own.” 

A moment of quiet separated his words from the sound of Prompto's hand slapping down with astonishing vigor on the back of his thigh. The reverberations of the strike were trembling through Ardyn's body as Prompto said, “Not bad for a start. I think you're trying, and that's good.” 

His fingertips traced over the back of Ardyn's leg as though trailing in water, leaving a tingling sting behind.

“Not a real clear answer, though. I need to know this.” Something shored up the casual lilt of his voice, like the metal reinforcement that showed through a building's crumbled concrete. “I want to know if you had a choice. Everything you did to all of us. Was it them or was it you?”

“Is it not an academic distinction?” Ardyn attempted to press up into the touch. 

“It's not,” Prompto said, and took his hand away. 

He said nothing else, and there were no sounds of motion. At some point the boy had learned patience. Perhaps while he was alone and afraid in the snowy wilderness, while he was strapped to a cross, or during the decade of darkness when monsters had ravaged the world. 

Ardyn needed pain. 

He rolled his shoulders as much as the ropes permitted, but the burn of sweat on his raw skin was pale and mild. What had been a pleasant hunger was without reason suddenly desperation. He twisted and succeeded in exciting the welts that covered him from neck to calf, but from his own hand there was no savor. He'd done nothing that was uncalled for. He'd only roughed him up a bit, as one could hardly have a damsel without distress. It had barely been a war crime. 

“Mercy,” he said. He was not proud of the rasp in his voice. 

Prompto said, “That's up to you.” 

The keenest torment was that his little master was within easy reach, watching. He could do anything he liked to Ardyn, and he was doing nothing. There was a soft leathery sound that must have been the removal of his gloves. When Ardyn rubbed his legs against one another, it was bare, warm hands that grasped his ankles and held him still. Ardyn chased after an answer he could provide, a way to demure or dodge, a trick to offer the rind while keeping the flesh inviolate. It was difficult to think, but not in the sweet pure way that suffering scoured away thought. Air settled on the heated welts, and Ardyn's body was half mad with need. 

“It was me,” he gasped out, letting it break past his lips. “The daemons were never in true control. I could have stopped at any time and I did not.” 

He lay there with his muscles taut. The trembling made the ropes squeak against the bedposts. There was silence and a quiet sigh. 

The boy kept his promises. The rake of nails down his back blasted Ardyn's mind clean. Five lines seared a diagonal across his back, etching him with bliss. Prompto's hand continued its motion, dragging along the welts and slapping lightly at unpredictable points, whetting Ardyn's need without slaking it. 

“Huh. That wasn't what I thought you'd say.” 

Ardyn's mind was on the colors his little master made dance in front of his eyes. “You thought it otherwise?” 

“I thought you'd lie.” 

“I have never lied to you.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you do that technically-true lawyer thing.” Prompto sounded accustomed, as though Ardyn had no surprises left. He twisted his knuckle into the point where two stripes crossed on Ardyn's thigh, providing him a surface burn and a deep ache at once. “But if you do that now, I'm gonna leave.” 

“There is no need for threats, little master,” Ardyn said, in a voice ragged with uneven breath. “I'm all yours.” 

“You've been around a long time, right?” Prompto said, ignoring that. The question was an easy one, and came with the his thumbnail running down Ardyn's spine. 

“Two thousand years, more or less.” He didn't bother to keep an exact count. Calendars changed so often. 

“Did you ever lose somebody you cared about?” His nail ran up and down over the map of Ardyn's welts, as though etching his signature into a plaster bas-relief. “I mean, if you even can care about people.”

It was most insulting in that it was not meant as an insult. Prompto believed he was conjecturing the obvious. 

“Countless,” Ardyn said. He'd long since ceased feeling guilty about losing the names. They remained in words, images, scraps of sensation. A hand on his. A voice saying in a long-dead language, _Get down from there, you damn fool._ A thumb tucking grayed hair behind an ear. A man staring up in wonder at a meteor shower, his first and Ardyn's hundredth. “Human lives are such brief things.” 

There was no reply for a while. Ardyn was curious what Prompto looked like at this moment, but kept his face turned to the wall. He would not risk interrupting the light scratching that traveled over his back and woke the injuries into a broad blanket of delicious and assuring heat. He let the urge to rut against the mattress lie fallow. He would, like a good boy, take what he was given. 

Prompto said, “How did you deal with losing them?” 

Ardyn imagined he could feel Prompto's shadow as he stood above him. He would be looking down on what must have been a lovely pattern of pink lines, the sort of art with just enough randomness to the design to capture the eye's lingering interest. He seemed to have forgotten he was tormenting Ardyn, and was now only using him like a worrystone. Ardyn's cock ached. 

So that was the true purpose of this; h little master wished to divide Ardyn's attention before he asked a question so revealing. He had learned such clever tricks. 

“There is a philosophy,” Ardyn said, slow as the strokes of Prompto's hand over his shoulders, “of taking all things in their season. Each moment is worth savoring for its own sake. I became adept at appreciating that what and who I loved had ever existed, rather than that they were lost.” 

“You can actually do that?” Prompto said, with a frank dubiousness that made Ardyn smile.

“Oh, yes. I perfected the art out of sheer spite.” 

Prompto's palm pressed and twisted down on Ardyn's shoulderblade, pulling a gasp from him. “How's that work?” 

“Quite well, really.” 

The silence was as pointed as the sudden lack of contact. 

“Only joking, little master,” he said, perhaps more quickly than was decorous. The immediacy of the hunger for touch was remarkable. “I mean only that mine was intended to be a curse of eternal misery. Thus I sought moments of happiness, knowing each to be a thumb in the eye of the gods.”

To pretend at hesitation was a joke in itself. He would tell this boy anything in the world he desired, if he would but ask. As the silence stretched Ardyn's body arched, need intensifying each instant it lacked what it deserved, sensitized skin crying out for fresh pain. 

His reward was rapid, hard smacks to his ass that brought the welts there alive. Fire burst through Ardyn's veins and shocked him into a full-throatedly moaned release, shoving him from the precipice into ecstasy. 

He shuddered against the bed and tugged at the security of the ropes around his wrists. As he attempted to gather his shattered wits, he heard Prompto say to as though himself, “I've gotta be spending too much time with you, cause that almost made sense.” 

Ardyn laughed softly into the mattress. 

Prompto's hand returned to him. It lingered teasingly on the nape of his neck, there in the narrow space between the switch's marks and the collar. 

“Okay, last thing,” he said. Ardyn felt a flicker of disappointment, but one mustn't be greedy. “It's more of a statement than a question.” 

“Do go on,” Ardyn said. “I'm sure it's fascinating.” 

Prompto's thumb ran, over and over, across the bump of the vertebra. 

“Game's up,” he said. “I figured out why you like this so much.” 

“You've noticed I am a dirty old man?” Ardyn said, pliant with pain and pleasure and amused by the unwarranted significance in Prompto's tone. “I had thought that well established.”

“Yeah, that's what you say.” Prompto's thumb kept rubbing at his neck. Ardyn attempted to shift so that he would give attention to the collar, but he just let his hand follow the motion. How sweet it would be if he toyed with the leather just a little. Tugged perhaps, slipped his finger beneath to make it tighten and threaten Ardyn's breath, taunted him for how far he had fallen, how he now had all the time in the world to make him suffer for what he'd done. How Ardyn's body was his to extract penance from. It would have been exquisitely personal. But his touch did not drift upwards.“You're just a pervert, or it's just a weird side effect from being brought back as a magic zombie or whatever.” 

“That is not remotely what I am.” Ardyn paused a moment and amended, “Well. A pervert, yes.” 

“But I got thinking.” Prompto's hand lowered slightly and his fingers played over a welt on Ardyn's spine, making him sigh in welcome. “If it's just that you get off on getting hurt, the thing is, you don't actually need me for that. There's plenty of stuff you could do yourself. But I've never caught you, like, trying to smash your hand with a hammer or anything, and there's never any marks on you except what I put there.” 

Ardyn shifted with a slow pull of the ropes that made the headboard creak. He did not want to hear more of this line of thought. He wanted more of those playful strikes. “Far be it from me to lay a hand on your property.”

“Uh-huh,” Prompto said, as flatly disinterested as always when Ardyn displayed sentiment. “Sure.” 

His touch skimmed along Ardyn's back. 

“So the point's not just getting hit – it's getting hit by me.” 

Ardyn rolled his shoulders as well as he could. The position was not a comfortable one to hold for a long period, if there was nothing to serve as distraction. “Do you expect me to deny enjoying your attention? I shan't.” 

“Dude, you can drop it. I know what you're doing.” Prompto's voice was tired.

Irritation tightened Ardyn's mouth, and he gave an impatient stare to the wall. “Enlighten me.” 

He would take whips, now, uninspired as they were. Bare fists. Something. 

“The idea is,” Prompto said, tracing a long diagonal welt, “you wait until some time when I get super into it. Then you go, 'hah! You like hurting people! You're just as bad as me,' and I'm like, 'oh no! I'm evil!' And then you laugh a bunch, and I have this whole crisis. So even now that you're not supposed to be able to do anything, you get to hit back.” 

His fingers drifted back and forth. 

“So am I right?” 

Ardyn's silence was not by design. 

“Ardyn?”

Prompto's hand lay flat on his back. The warm, still shape gave a variety of sensation, depending on where it rested on injured skin. Ardyn would like to think on that for a time. 

“You gonna answer me?” 

Ardyn said, “Use the mark.” 

“Huh?” 

Ardyn took the risk of turning his face toward the boy. The lower part of his view was blocked by his own outstretched arm. Much of the upper half was occupied by Prompto, a lanky shape made mostly black by his uniform. The lines of god-graven sigil on his hand were a startling darkness on his pale skin. 

“Order me to speak truly.” 

The boy gazed at him for a while, searching his face. After a succession of heartbeats, he said, “Tell me the truth.” 

The order was enforced by the pressure of his little master's concentration. The gods' power leaned on Ardyn's mind. He'd found that if he exerted every ounce of his concentration and will, he could resist for as much as two seconds. He gave no such effort now, but put thought into leavening his response into a form it would be possible for Prompto to believe. 

Ardyn said, as compelled, “You are mistaken. I have no wish to cause you distress.” 

Prompto's expression remained guarded, but he must have been convinced that Ardyn was, at the least, making an effort. Ardyn was rewarded with his little master's hand gripping firmly on his shoulder and making the welts there ache. 

“Then what's your deal?” 

“Avarice,” Ardyn said, eyes lidding, occupied by the fascination of the pain. “I want all your suffering for myself.” 

“Huh.” It was clear that his little master did not understand the depth of the admission. “Well, it doesn't really matter. Cause I figured out something else.” 

His hand, deceptively strong, tightened on Ardyn's shoulder with a ruthlessness as exhilarating as the sudden iron in his voice. 

“You can try to mess with me all you want. Things can be rough, and awful, and hard. But you know what? I'm not breaking down. You don't get to see that.” 

The mattress sank as Prompto knelt on the bed. His other boot he planted in the center of Ardyn's back. Ardyn's inhalation was as sharp as the spike of pride. 

“I'm going to be fine,” Prompto said, grinding his heel down with a force that made Ardyn's body flood with devotion, “because _fuck you._ ” 

Ardyn gave himself over to gasps and sighs. It was no strange thing to bury his face in the mattress to muffle them, and to hide his small, peaceful smile.


	9. Chapter 9

The reconstruction of Insomnia made progress every day. There were a lot of people working without a lot of experience, though, so accidents happened. As much as modern medicine could do, potions were faster and surer, and no matter how careful they tried to be, the stockpile was dwindling. 

It was Gladio who said, “He could make himself useful.” 

Prompto said, “We can't trust him.” 

Gladio said, “We can trust the leash the gods put on.” 

So Prompto came into a warehouse with Ardyn a step behind. They stood in the shadow of a vat twice a man's height, and Prompto read out the order Ignis had written to be a seamless wall without a single loophole anybody in the world could slip harm through.

Prompto folded up the paper, put it in the pocket of his Kingsglaive coat, and added, “If this hurts anybody I'll kill you.” 

It wasn't a threat. It was just a thing that would happen. Push this button, here's what you get. 

“Understood,” Ardyn said. He set his hands on the vat. He closed his eyes, and there was a faint pink glow. 

There was a lot of testing before they got distributed. Then there was a box on hand the next time the two of them were at a worksite. Everybody was used to Ardyn now. A couple times he'd been recognized as the old Niflheim Chancellor, but that wasn't so strange. Plenty of Nifs were part of the city now. All the old lines of division had gone away when the sun went down. 

Anyway, when a piece of rebar caught on a worker's arm and cut it up, one of those potions got her right back together. Prompto didn't have to look back at Ardyn. He could feel his pride radiating. 

“Good thing those still work,” the worker said to the friend checking the healed arm in the shredded sleeve. “Taste real funny now, though.” 

Later when they were alone Ardyn said, “The hint of fennel and blackcurrant is a fine tradition that accentuates the...and what is so amusing?” 

“Your face,” Prompto managed to get out. 

“No one these days appreciates the old artful touch,” Ardyn muttered. 

“Hey,” Prompto said, catching his breath, “don't get all like that. You did a good thing for somebody. I'll buy you a blueberry muffin.” 

Ardyn said, “Hrm.” 

“Okay, I'll buy you a blueberry muffin and...” Prompto's eyes wandered upwards in thought. “...smack you around some later?” 

“Ah.” Ardyn's eyebrows lifted. “Now you are, as they say, talking.”

* * *

The couch was far more comfortable than a hammock on a fishing vessel, a back alley of a long-forgotten mining town, or the floor of a cave. Moreover, once Prompto was asleep, there was perfect privacy. That was a crucial luxury. There in the dark, sore from exertion and reward, Ardyn could indulge in thinking of whatever he liked. 

_”Touch me. Make me feel good.”_

_Ardyn obeyed. He kissed his little master's inner wrist just beside the loops of rope. He caressed his shoulders, feeling the swell of taut muscle fill his palm. So stiff, so afraid. Ardyn's fingers coaxed, and his lips wove a chain of kisses along Prompto's skin, working inch by inch until his fists slackened and the hisses of distress through his teeth became the first heady reward of a sigh._

_Ardyn lingered at his dusky nipples, licking them to hardness and taking them into his mouth, letting his stubbled face brush his little master's skin. He kissed Prompto's chest over his pounding heart. Ardyn was patient and inexorable in caressing and convincing, demonstrating to this body that his touch meant pleasure, putting his skills to the task of making the edge of Prompto's fear turn sweet. Slowly, the tension in the body below him melted under the heat of his tongue. Down the slope of his fine, strong legs, Ardyn's mouth and hands served him._

_“H, how are you so good at this?”_

_Ardyn kissed the arch of his foot and said, “A great deal of practice.”_

_When he took Prompto's cock in his mouth, the cry he received was of welcome._

_His eyelids fluttered when Ardyn untied him, and his lips were a sated arc._

_“Wow. I needed that.”_

_With lidded, playful eyes, he watched Ardyn watching him. His hair was mussed, his face tinged with color, and his breath hypnotic._

_“So am I gonna have to tell you to kiss me or what?”_

Yes. On one thing, the boy had been mistaken. 

Ardyn did enjoy torturing himself.

* * *

“So tired,” Prompto groaned. He collapsed onto the couch like a sack of laundry, which he kind of wished he was. Dirty socks couldn't be sore. “I'm never moving again.” 

He immediately broke his promise by clunking his feet up on the coffee table, but the only person around to judge him was Ardyn and who cared what that guy thought. 

Even Ardyn looked pretty worn out, and he'd only had to do the clearing rubble part without the pile of meetings on top. Prompto would've nodded off in the middle if Ignis next to him hadn't somehow known exactly when to elbow him. He kept trying to tell people he was nobody, but ten years of running around trying to help keep the world going meant he was a nobody who knew just about everybody, and that kept coming in handy enough to make him go to these things. 

“You have another in the palace at nine tomorrow,” said Ardyn, the world's weirdest secretary. He was unbuttoning the top of his shirt. It must've sucked to have to wear high-necked stuff all the time, but he was under orders to hide the collar. If anybody spotted it there'd be a whole lot of awkward questions, and knowing him he'd manage to come up with something even more messed up than the truth.

“Aw, man.” Prompto's head thudded backwards. “And I'm gonna have to clean my shoes up first.” 

It wasn't going to be easy, either. They were all mud-splattered and covered in brick dust. Ardyn was looking at them too, until he met Prompto's eyes. 

“Some would remark,” he said, doing that thing where his voice got all low and significant, “that to polish one's own boots is a waste of a thrall.” 

“If you wanna do it, go for it.” It took a lot of work just to wave his hand around. “I mean, I command you. Or something.” 

He didn't think about it much when Ardyn left. He was too tired to do anything but look up at the cracked plaster on the ceiling. This place had gotten through the dark pretty intact, but nowhere was perfect. Time was as rough as daemons. It wasn't until Ardyn came back with the kit in hand and started putting a towel under his feet that he realized Ardyn meant here and now. 

“I can take those off-” 

“No need. It's more accessible this way.” Ardyn was taking the laces out. He was on the other side of the coffee table, sitting on the floor with his legs folded under him, and something made Prompto's stomach do a little flip. 

Ardyn took soap and a brush and worked lather all over the leather. He was interesting to watch. He looked expert about getting in all the little spaces.

“You look like you've done this a thousand times,” Prompto said drowsily. “Guess you probably have. That'd be, like, once every two years, for you.”

Ardyn hummed agreement. “I've had the opportunity to master a variety of useful skills.” 

It was weirdly relaxing, though that was just because right now Prompto could have been fine with a hurricane as long as it didn't mean he had to get up. Soothing, yeah, just feeling Ardyn do the job and touch his calf to shift his foot's position now and then. The brush made a steady rustling sound. He let his head loll to the side and watched Ardyn's face. He had his eyes down, watching what he was doing as he wiped the soap off the boots. He set the brush down and opened up the thing of polish. The scent of it drifted out. He got a rag and started rubbing polish onto the toe of Prompto's boot, working in little circles, and looked focused and content. 

“Wait a minute,” Prompto said when it clicked, “you're digging this.” 

Ardyn smiled and spread polish over the curve of the heel. “I'll acknowledge a certain appreciation.”

“Dude, do you just have _every_ fetish?” 

“I prefer to call it being open-minded.”

Well, it wasn't hurting anything. Felt kind of nice, actually. Prompto exhaled and let his body sink deeper into the couch. Ardyn was working his way up and down his calf. First one, then a shifting cloth sound when he moved over to the other. 

Prompto's eyes drifted shut. He didn't have to do anything besides let him work. The smell of leather and polish was nice. He could doze off right here, or come close enough that when Ardyn pressed a kiss to the side of his boot, he could pretend not to notice.

* * *

They had a lot of heavy equipment and a lot of amateurs. Sooner or later, somebody was going to get hurt worse than a potion could handle. When Prompto heard the sickening crunch from the other side of the worksite, it was less a surprise than the confirmation of an old dread. 

It shouldn't have been that much distance but he had to dodge over chunks of concrete and rebar that kept trying to tangle his feet, and it felt like he was pushing through the thick air of a bad dream. The operator was climbing out of excavator, shouting. Junia the forelady, was on the ground with her hard hat knocked ten feet away, and there was a black shape kneeling over her. Ardyn.

Prompto's blood flash-froze. 

“Get away from her!” he yelled, and sprinted over the last piece of open ground. 

The gods' enchantment made Ardyn yank himself out of the way in time for Prompto to slide there on his knees in the dirt. Don't move injured people, he knew that much. It could be her spine, her-

She groaned and put her hand to her head. Her eyes opened, and she looked down at the red on her fingers.

“Are you okay?” Prompto's heart was thudding with relief. 

“Yeah,” Junia said. She sound dazed, but all there. “Just got knocked around some.” 

It looked worse than it was. There was a lot of blood sticking down the grey-streaked dark hair on the side of her head, but as a whole lot of hunting experience had taught Prompto, scalp cuts bled like nobody's business. He stayed there and kept her talking until they got a medic to come by. The verdict was a concussion. 

“What are you all looking at?” she called while they made her go home. “You've got work to do!” 

On his way to get back to his spot, Prompto nearly tripped over the hard hat. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. You didn't often see that kind of shape. Half almost perfectly flat. 

Ardyn was at the edge of the group. Prompto didn't bother giving him an order. He just grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away from the site, into an alley between a house that'd made it through the night and a new one they'd just finished. 

“What did you do to her?” Prompto's marked hand balled into a fist. “Tell me the truth.” 

“I rendered assistance,” Ardyn said. After the bright light of the open he was grayscale in the alleyway shadows. 

Prompto's teeth clenched together. He bore down on the compulsion. “Tell me!” 

He didn't know what the spell felt like, but judging by Ardyn's hiss for breath, it hit hard. “I healed her.” 

Prompto's stomach plummeted like he was in an elevator in freefall. “What else did you do? What's gonna happen to her?” 

“Nothing. It was nearly complete when you interrupted. Ideally I would like to reexamine-”

“Why?” Prompto demanded. He stepped forward, backing Ardyn into the wall, and got an ugly rush from the way concentrating on the compulsion made the big bastard flinch. “Why would _you_ help somebody?”

Ardyn's hand was coming up by his neck. His voice was faster and sharper than usual, like it was getting pulled out before he could polish it. “A death would interrupt the work and upset you. It would have been troublesome.” 

The force of Prompto's attention fell back by a wary inch. “You saved her life because her dying would've been inconvenient?” 

“Essentially, yes.” 

Prompto's heart eased down out of his throat and he let the spell slack off. Ardyn let out a breath like someone who'd been grabbing him by the neck had just let go. 

“Okay,” Prompto said. “That sounds more like you.” 

He turned around, and they went back to work. 

Later Prompto shot Junia a text. She said she really was okay, and slowly, he let himself start to believe it. Relief mixed with the unease of knowing that Ardyn had done a good thing. Prompto kept looking over at him now and then, and once or twice got caught. He didn't say anything, though.

By evening Prompto had an idea what to do.

* * *

Ardyn actually did know how to be quiet sometimes. His eyes got bigger when he saw Prompto coming out with the armful of rope, but even when the first loop strapped his wrist to the chair's arm he kept his mouth shut. It was a big, sturdy chair that must have been a pain to drag out into the middle of the living room, but Prompto had made Ardyn do that part. 

Knots at the wrists, then at the elbows, tightened until they made scrunches in his shirt. This one opened low enough to show the collar on Ardyn's scruffy neck. The collar was all Prompto really needed, but he felt better this way. A loop around his midriff, then around his torso, pulled snug to the back of the chair. Then his thighs to the seat. Calves, and then ankles. Seeing his feet in black socks was one of those weirdly human things Prompto had almost gotten used to by now. Prompto just did his work and listened to Ardyn's breathing getting rougher. When he was done Prompto gave each knot a tug, and was satisfied when they held firm. Lately he'd gotten real good at knots. 

He straightened up and stepped back. 

“Try to get loose,” he said, putting a little force in it with the collar's thing. “Really try.” 

Ardyn's body jerked. His shoulders twisted and his arms jumped against the ropes. He tensed and pulled hard, and the chair scraped sideways an inch. After watching him twitch around for a minute, Prompto let him stop. 

“It's no use, little master.” His voice was low, out of breath, and his yellow eyes were half closed. “I am well and truly trapped.” 

Maybe this was ridiculous. It wasn't even much, what he was going to do. Or maybe it was too much. He might just get a raised purple eyebrow and a _That's it?_ Well, the one upside to this whole mess was that for the first time in Prompto's life, he didn't have to care what somebody thought of him.

That, and that if Ardyn hadn't been there today, somebody would be dead. 

“You did something good today,” Prompto said, taking off his gloves.

“Is a bare-knuckled beating to be my reward?” Ardyn said with interest.

Prompto's steps were slow. He stood there with Ardyn looking up at him, bound tight, patient, waiting to get what he'd never asked for. 

Prompto breathed in, trying to slow his pulse down. This was nothing. It was easy. “Okay,” he whispered to himself. “Okay.” 

He put his hands on the sides of Ardyn's neck, felt the collar lying there under his palms, and kissed him. 

Just like that ugly night when he'd made Ardyn touch him, the scariest thing was that it didn't feel bad. He didn't burn, or hurt, or taste like poison. He just felt like a person. Sometime when he hadn't meant to, Prompto had closed his eyes. His hands were moving back and forth on Ardyn's neck, feeling the texture of his stubble next to the smooth leather of the collar. Ardyn didn't bite, either, or try to shove his tongue in his mouth. His lips fell open in what must have been shock, and it felt good to know that a mere mortal could surprise him. If Prompto was going to do this, he was doing it like he meant it. He slid his tongue between Ardyn's lips, and Ardyn made a moan he felt in vibrations. 

It'd been a while since Prompto had kissed somebody. He didn't rush it, and tried to think of this as just _somebody_. He was stroking his tongue across the mouth of somebody who wanted him, and he was in control of how much they'd get. Ardyn was kissing back slow, like he knew if he pushed too hard it would be over, and knowing he was holding back what he wanted and doing what _Prompto_ wanted was a rush that made Prompto's stomach go tight. He didn't even have to say anything to get obeyed. 

Prompto leaned forward and braced his knee on the chair between Ardyn's legs. He pressed his knee into Ardyn's crotch and wasn't surprised to find him hard. Tying him up always did that. When Prompto pushed a little more firmly, he heard the ropes creak and felt Ardyn's gasp try to steal his breath. 

Prompto made the kiss deeper and slipped his index fingers underneath the collar. The leather held them against Ardyn's neck, where his pulse was beating on Prompto's palm. At the same time as Prompto pressed hard with his knee, he pulled the collar just a little tight. 

Ardyn made a sharp, urgent sound, and the chair jumped with how he jerked against the ropes. Prompto felt a twitch and wetness against his knee. Ardyn shivered head to toe, but never stopped kissing Prompto back. 

When Prompto broke away, he opened his eyes and caught his first breath in a while that wasn't full of Ardyn. The lights seemed bright. His face and neck felt warm, like a sunburn setting in. His mouth was covered in how Ardyn felt. Ardyn's head had fallen back and he was limp, ragdolled like an enemy in a shooting game. Prompto undid the ropes and was worried he'd fall over, but he kept himself upright on the chair. Just stayed there with his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling. 

_I want all your suffering for myself._ He'd come right out and said he wanted to be the only one who got to make Prompto hurt, which almost made sense in an Ardyn kind of way. Too bad for him. Noct had him beat by a mile there, too. Every day Prompto realized a strange thing more and more; he'd already dealt with the worst thing he could imagine. By comparison, Ardyn was no big deal.

“That's all,” Prompto said, trying to sound masterful and decisive. It came out a little awkward. 

“All?” Ardyn's voice was a rumble from low in his throat. He smiled blindly at the ceiling. “Oh, little master. I could be sustained for a century by your kiss.”


	10. Chapter 10

Ardyn went about his work humming to himself, with his little master's kiss twining around him like a snake and living in him like a muse. Each moment was preserved in his memory, there to be savored and relived. He almost wished there had not been any attention to his cock, so that his mind would not have been drawn away from the fascination and complexities of his little master's lips. 

A few others on the work crew commented on his good mood. Ardyn claimed it was the sunshine. 

It was not entirely a lie. The weather had been fine, and now, instead of making the daemons seethe inside him, the touch of sunlight only warmed his skin.

Prompto came by and said, “I'm gonna be with the guys most of today. You're gonna wanna be good.” 

“Am I?” Ardyn said lightly. 

“Yeah.” Prompto was gazing off toward where the citadel's spires rose above the repaired buildings. “Cause I thought up something really nasty to do to you.”

* * *

He must have been informed that Ardyn had been on his very best behavior, because as soon as they arrived at home the reward was swift to come. Prompto pointed to a hook in the ceiling of the laundry room and said, “I'm getting pretty good at this DIY stuff. Get your clothes off.” 

As Ardyn set himself to that task and the challenge of avoiding unseemly haste, Prompto closed the blinds of the narrow window and got something out of the bag he'd set on top of the washing machine. 

“Hands,” he said, unmoved as always by Ardyn's exposure, showing neither interest nor disgust. 

Ardyn put his hands out in front of him and could not suppress a murmur of appreciation at the black leather cuffs that his little master buckled firmly around his wrists. They were broad and well-padded, and the sensation was delicious. They also had embedded metal rings, where Prompto attached two chains that came together as one in an inverted Y shape. It was best to be silent in these moments of preparation. There had been more than one occurrence of Ardyn indulging in chatting or teasing until his little master grew irritated and untied him, leaving him bereft. Even when he did not provide a reason, there was a risk that Prompto would lose the inspiration to torment him, and that would be a tragedy. 

Chain in hand, Prompto hooked a chair with his ankle, brought it close, and climbed up. “Arms up – on your tiptoes – there we go.” 

He had hooked the chain so that Ardyn was forced onto the balls of his feet if he wished not to dangle by his wrists. His bare feet had poor purchase on the tile floor, and he was off balance as well as helpless. 

“Huh, look at that, you're hard already.” Prompto leaned his elbow on Ardyn's shoulder, making the cuffs pull more insistently at his arms. “I was gonna smack you around some, but I guess we can skip that part.” 

The familiar pleasant fever was suffusing Ardyn's skin. “There is no need to deprive yourself of the fun. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Huh.” Prompto frowned thoughtfully into the middle distance. “That's weird.” 

“Hm?” 

“I thought I heard somebody arguing with me. But there's no way there's anybody crazy enough to do that around here.” 

Ardyn's susceptible human heart beat rapidly. This rare mood was his very favorite: playful cruelty. 

“No, little master,” he said. 

“Attaboy,” Prompto said, and patted him on the back. “Oh, woah, your dick jumped all on its own. That's cute. Wait, lemme try to make it do that again.” 

Prompto leaned across him, flicked his nipple, and said, “Good boy.” 

A moan stole out from between Ardyn's lips. The weakness of his knees put his weight onto the chains. 

“Aw, no dice.” Prompto bent to rummage in the bag. “Maybe I have to get you by surprise. I have something good for that.”

Ardyn got a glimpse of black fabric as it was tied around his eyes, leaving him in darkness and at his little master's whimsical mercy.

Prompto tied off the blindfold. In one of his telling idiosyncrasies, he took the effort not to catch any of Ardyn's unruly hair in the knot. “How's it feel?” 

“Lovely,” Ardyn purred. Having his hands stretched upwards and his sight blocked made balance markedly more difficult. He also had no warning when his little master's fingers began to tease and caress his nipples. The increased strain on his wrists told him he was leaning forward. “But not so lovely as that.” 

As expected, it ceased long before he would have liked. Unexpectedly enough to draw a yelp, the attention was replaced with a pair of clamps. The tantalizing pain pulsed with his heartbeat. There was a jingle, as of a light chain. He felt an upwards tug on his chest, then heard a clink.

“There we go.” 

The chain had been attached somewhere above him, as Ardyn discovered when he tried to lower his heels. As long as he stayed stretched upwards the pressure was negligible, but if he relaxed at all, it became quite sharp. 

“Oh, little master,” Ardyn breathed to the sounds of motion in the enveloping darkness, “you are too good to me.” 

“Probably.” The word came from behind him, along with the pop of a cap. Slick fingers ran down the crack of Ardyn's rear, then pressed inside of him. 

Prompto was as buisinesslike as in the other times he had done this to prepare Ardyn for a toy. He never showed any inclination to partake himself, nor any interest in being begged to do so. If he took any carnal enjoyment from these sessions, he hid it well. For him the satisfaction was cerebral, or perhaps spiritual. 

Ardyn stayed as still as he could manage so as not to disturb the work. His calves trembled with the effort and small noises stole from him. When Prompto's fingers withdrew, something round and metal pressed against him and made him gasp. 

“Oops, should've warned you that'd be cold.” His chirp was not at all apologetic. 

The thing that was pushed inside Ardyn soon narrowed. He felt slender metal resting upright between his cheeks and against his lower back. Somewhere, his little master had found a hook. 

“I admire a resourceful man.” Ardyn took pride in keeping his voice smooth as the hook shifted inside him. He felt rope running up his back. 

“Pretty amazing, the stuff people come up with, huh?” The chair creaked. There were soft sounds above him, and the hook steadied. “There, that should hold it.” 

A thump of feet on the floor, and a moment of quiet. Perhaps Prompto was admiring his handiwork. Experimentally, Ardyn tried lowering himself as much as the cuffs would permit. The hook sank inside him, pain arced across his chest, and a moan poured from his throat.

“Well, I've got stuff to do.” A smack on the rear came out of nowhere and made Ardyn jump, setting off a cascade of sensations. “I'll just let you hang out.” 

Ardyn found it wasn't terribly difficult to balance. The cuffs holding his arms above his head were a useful means to steady himself. The trick would be to conserve his body's resources until his little master returned. An interesting task for someone whose body had so recently been tireless. His calves would soon begin to feel the strain of staying on his toes, but it was nothing to the ache of his cock. 

Sensitive as his body was, the sparks of pleasure from the hook buried inside him and those of pain from his clamped nipples were enough to bring him in sight of the brink. It would only take a little work and getting the angle just right. Staring at the darkness before his eyes, he shifted his weight to bear down against the hook. He earned a tantalizing touch of sensation, quickly lost. He rocked on the balls of his feet, seeking the sweet pressure he could catch for teasing instants before the bite of the clips restrained him. Just a little more, one good firm press just a little deeper inside him, and he would catch the ecstasy that was inches out of reach. 

Calves trembling with exhaustion, Ardyn ceased. His efforts had bought him nothing but aches throughout his body and a sharpening of unfulfilled arousal. His heartbeat throbbed in the points of pressure on his chest. He huffed for breath that he lost in quiet laughter. Without Prompto lifting a finger, Ardyn had quite thoroughly tortured himself. 

He focused on keeping himself still, with the memory of his little master's kiss caught up in his senses like woodsmoke in his hair, alone in the dark lost in waves of arousal clashing and mixing against throbs of pain. 

The sound of the door opening behind him made relief rise in tandem with disappointment. He was only weary, not yet desperate, and could have taken a bit more. 

Footsteps passed him. A lid opened with a metallic clunk. Cloth shuffled. 

Prompto's voice said, “Hey, does your gray shirt go in with whites or colors? I always forget.” 

Ardyn swayed on his feet and moaned. 

“Yeah, thought so.” 

More shuffling. A splash of liquid. A closed lid. Beeps, and a machine churning to life. Footsteps passed him.

“Oh! Right, right, _you_.” Prompto was making no effort at all to act convincingly. “I've got good news.” 

A chair scraped the floor and squeaked as Prompto stepped up. The shift of air was cool against the sweat on Ardyn's side. He slowed his breath in anticipation of his release. 

Prompto slapped his back and said brightly into his ear, “You're halfway done.” 

He hopped down. Ardyn twisted in his bonds and said, “Prompto? Prompto!” 

The door shut. 

Ardyn was lost. There was nothing in his world but the soft fabric of the blindfold, the metal hook sunk inside of him, and the clamps on his chest tormenting him whenever his aching calves failed to keep him aloft. Punishment followed swiftly whenever he weakened. The cuffs embraced his wrists and suspended him by arms that throbbed in their own right, dull in contrast to the sharp twin points of pain tugging at his chest. He could sway only enough to stir the air and chill the sweat on his skin. The truest torture was not the assault of sensation but the lack where he needed it most desperately. He was delirious in arousal, alone with the thump of the washing machine to count the time. 

The door opened. 

“Wow, you look pretty worked up,” Prompto's voice said. “I almost feel bad.”

Ardyn groaned in answer.

Prompto's hand tapped his thigh, jolting him with unbearably sweet sensation. 

“Big almost.” 

The chair creaked. Prompto's voice came from just beside him and slightly higher. Ardyn awaited the pending moment of relief when he would be let down and allowed to rest.

“So here's the deal,” Prompto said. “I can let you down now, and you can beat off or whatever.”

The thought of sliding his hand over his cock made Ardyn twist in his bonds, jangling the chains above him. 

“But man, your arms must be really tired. So tired that if I gave you, say, ten more minutes, and then let you down, you wouldn't even be able to do that. And it wouldn't be right to leave you all turned on with nowhere to go.”

Ardyn did not dare let his lust-drunk mind wander into the realm of wishful thinking. 

“So I'd do it for you.” 

Ardyn went still. A steady fire abided in the muscles from his calves to his thighs, twin to that in his shoulders. The tip of his tongue traveled over his lips. “Ten minutes? No.” 

“Yeah, didn't think so.” Prompto's hand jangled on the chains. 

“That is hardly sufficient to earn your hand.” Ardyn caught a series of shallow breaths. “Make it twenty.” 

He listened to Prompto's silence, each breath an eternity of anguish to savor. 

“Wow. You really are having fun. Well, whatever you say.” 

Footsteps moved away. This time, the door did not close. Ardyn smiled into the dark at the thought of the boy watching him suffer.

He imagined he was putting on a good show, with his muscles twitching as he rocked his weight toward the hook sunk inside him. He could not get quite enough pressure to be satisfying, but neither could he prevent himself from trying. The weaknesses of the flesh were truly delicious. Every inch of his body was straining beneath its own weight, so that despite being immobile he was gasping for breath. Worse, he was now haunted by the idea of his little master's hand stroking him, so close and yet out of reach on the far side of a black block of time. 

Ardyn wondered if Prompto was watching his bare back flex as he shifted in the cuffs, or enjoying his moans when the clamps on his nipples bit deeply. Agony was so much more fun when it was for someone's satisfaction. 

His calves had become twin territories of burning weakness. In a last foolish use of his strength, he grasped the taut chains attached to his cuffs and pulled, suspending himself by the power of his arms and gaining a precious instant of relief. This he paid for when he overestimated his endurance and landed heavily on the balls of his feet with a jolt that sank the hook into him and yanked at the clamps on his tender chest with equal force. 

If his little master had wanted to see his cock move untouched, that would have been the moment. 

The echoes of his cry served as company until they were overtaken by the blessed sound of rapid footsteps. The chair squeaked, and the tension of the chains above him changed. 

“Okay, time's up,” Prompto said. “Coming down.” 

The chains to the nipple clamps were undone first, to Ardyn's sigh of relief as the pressure eased. A moan accompanied the withdrawal of the hook. Then the padded manacles were loosed from around his wrists. His knees could not take the sudden unsupported weight, and he crumpled downward. 

“Easy, easy. I gotcha.” Halfway down his little master caught him about the waist, a shock of warmth and contact that reverberated through his deprived body, and lowered him more decorously to the floor. “Oof, why are you so giant?” 

_To contain a grand destiny,_ Ardyn meant to say. Only rough breathing emerged. 

The tile was cool on his heated skin. Prompto's arms unclasped from around him, to his murmur of loss. Only a momentary disappointment. His little master would keep his promise, as he always did. Ardyn flattened his palms against the floor in resistance of the temptation to remove the blindfold, as well as the animal urge to bring himself relief. 

“Look out. This is gonna hurt.” 

Ardyn barely had a moment to savor the anticipation before the clamps were removed from his chest. The fiery sting of the blood returning made him yelp and made his toes curl.

“Heh. You make some pretty goofy noises.” He truly did sound amused. “Lay down, okay, and I'll give you a hand.” 

“Terrible,” Ardyn said in admiration, and blindly tilted back. The floor pressed against the length of him. He was appreciating the moment of rest for his sore body when Prompto's hand wrapped around his cock. 

His little master had such lovely hands. 

It was like being given sweet water after crawling across a desert. Hands such as these were incapable of being brusque. All they touched was given care and attention. Ardyn gasped and arched, muscles burning as his heels scrabbled against the floor. 

“Woah, careful, you're gonna kick me.” 

Ardyn stilled his legs. The voice came from above him, close. Prompto's hand, slick with something, caressed his length and sent waves of pleasure crashing against his consciousness, relentless as the torment had been. 

“Little master,” he panted, empty hands opening and closing, “may I see you?” 

“Sure, knock yourself out.” 

Prompto's hand pushed up one side of the blindfold. What Aryn saw with one watering eye as ecstasy overtook him was his little master's teasing, playful smile. 

“Since you've been real good and all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with some truly delightful art by Vethica:


	11. Chapter 11

“Okay, one, two, three!” They heaved at the burned-out wreck of the car. Prompto had a grip at the gap where a window had once been, and the edge of the frame dug into his palms through his gloves. Between the whole crew of them they got it moving. Ardyn's purple hair was visible over the blackened roof, but mostly Prompto just focused on the sky and breathed until they set it down with a collective grunt.

“Yeesh,” said the guy by Prompto, a wiry dude with a bandanna around his head who'd been a hunter once, “this area's still a mess. What could even make a crater like that?” 

They took a minute to sit on the curb and breathe. Prompto wiped his gloves off on his pants, leaving ashy dull places on the black. The smell of burnt metal and asphalt was all in his nose. “I know, right? Out in the middle of the street like that. It's almost like some asshole tossed a bunch of meteors around for no reason. Not even aiming at anything.” 

He handed Ardyn a bottle of water for his cough.

A couple minutes later, when they were back to work and the others were a ways away, Prompto mentioned, “You know, dealing with this stuff makes me pretty mad.” 

He said it under his breath across the chunk of metal they were carrying, trying to get it just loud enough for Ardyn to hear.

“Does it?” Ardyn said, real neutral, holding up the other end. He was good at making his face and voice normal when everything else wasn't. Probably something he got a lot of practice at. One of those things he thought was funny. 

“Seeing how you wrecked up the place. All the trouble you caused.” Prompto kept his eyes on where he was going. You had to watch out, hauling heavy stuff over the cracked pavement. He could do the normal-voice thing, too. “Kinda makes me wanna hurt you.” 

He thought he could see Ardyn's breath catch. Could be his imagination, or things tricking him out of the corner of his eye.

“Is that so, little master?” Ardyn said, when the space after when he spoke was wide.

“Mhm.” Most of Prompto's attention went towards not tripping over chunks of rubble. “That hook in the laundry room keeps giving me ideas. Like stringing you up and smacking you around with my belt til you're all pink on both sides. Wouldn't make us even, but it'd be in the right direction.”

“So it would,” Ardyn said.

Prompto grunted as more of the weight fell on his side. It was easy for that to happen when the other guy was a lot taller, if he let his mind wander. 

“Course,” Prompto added casually, “it all depends on if I'm not too tired tonight.” 

The chunk of metal got a lot lighter. 

When you had to spend all day putting the world back together, you made your own fun.

* * *

Just to tease him some, Prompto took his time taking off his boots and going around to every room in the apartment to turn the lights on. Then he stood in the living room and looked out at the purple sky over the city. They couldn't do much about the skyscrapers yet, but the lower gaps got filled in a little every day. 

“You know, it's funny. After all that work.” 

“Hm?” said Ardyn. 

Prompto turned around and smiled. “I'm not tired at all.” 

You could really tell when yellow eyes lit up. 

Ardyn kept quiet while he got undressed and went to the laundry room. He put his hands out for the cuffs and stood on tip-toes to let Prompto get the chain onto the hook. He didn't talk much during these things, ever since the time he'd purred _Your humble slave is ready to serve you, little master_ , and Prompto had groaned _Oh my god, never mind_ and walked away. Now he just hung there half-hard and watched Prompto slither his belt out of the loops. 

The belt made a nice whippy snap, and the slap of leather on Ardyn's skin was a special sort of satisfying. 

Prompto paced around him in a circle, giving him whacks. It was fun getting little _oh_ s out of him. Depending on where the smack landed, you could see the muscles twitch, whether it was his pecs or the little muscles in his back. Prompto was getting good at this. He'd decided that he didn't have to feel bad that it felt good. Ardyn was his own thing, separated out from normal life in his own place where dirty sex stuff went, where Prompto could walk in and out without ever getting touched.

Some days Prompto liked messing around with him, letting him tense for it and then smacking him just as he relaxed, but this time he was in the mood to keep it quick and steady. He hummed to himself and gave Ardyn hits in time with his footsteps. It was actually kind of soothing. All he had to pay attention to was where he was aiming, and to making sure not to bark his shin on the dryer. Mostly he could not think about much at all, and just watch Ardyn go from making little porn noises to grunting and then to just breathing hard with his face tipped back and his eyes closed. 

Prompto smacked him on the left side of his back, then put one on his ass, then the side of his thigh. There were pink stripes all over him already. It was amazing how hard he could get without ever getting touched in a nice way. His shoulders went up and down real dramatically as he panted. His head lolled sideways and he mumbled something. 

“What's up?” Prompto said, because that was the game. He gave him a good hit on the hip as he walked around to the front of him. “Didn't quite catch that.” 

Ardyn said something loud, clear, and in a language Prompto didn't know.

“Uh, Ardyn?” he tried. 

When Ardyn opened his eyes, they were like glass balls. 

The belt buckle rattled when it hit the floor. Ardyn didn't look like he heard. He was staring at something straight forward and a million miles off. He said something in a sharp, stark voice Prompto had never heard before. Going by the pauses, somebody was talking back. 

“Shit,” Prompto whispered. He snapped his numb body into motion. “Shit. Shit!” 

He yanked the chair over and scrambled up. It took three tries before he got the cuffs undone. 

“Ardyn,” he said. “Come on, snap out of it.”

When the cuffs came loose he didn't fall. His arms just came down and he kept talking. Rapid and hopeless, like an argument he couldn't win. 

“Stop it.” Prompto grabbed Ardyn's face and turned it toward him, but the blank yellow stare went right through. Prompto's stomach folded in on itself. “This isn't funny.” 

Ardyn was quiet for a few seconds. Then he shouted. It made Prompto half jump out of his skin, and it was desperate in a way he couldn't even start to deal with. 

There was only one part of the whole freaking-out naked man thing Prompto could do much about right now, so he rifled through the dryer. A bathrobe, that would work. He shook the clinging socks off it and wrapped it around Ardyn, lifting his arms up like the armrests on a movie theater seat. The robe was big and baggy on Prompto, so Ardyn it barely got around. This wasn't supposed to happen. Ardyn _liked_ this stuff. He said so. 

Ardyn said something quiet and intense to someone far away. Not understanding it made Prompto itch. It sounded important. 

When Prompto pulled on his hand he followed. Prompto led him to the couch. When he pushed on Ardyn's shoulders he folded and sat with his eyes fixed straight ahead. 

“It's okay,” Prompto said, trying to convince them both. He knelt down and patted Ardyn's face a little, stubble scratching his palm. Were you supposed to slap people when they were like this? It wasn't like Prompto hadn't done that plenty before. “It's just me. Your little master, remember?” 

He stayed there for a while, tapping Ardyn's face and talking, just the same little things over and over, like _it's okay_ and _if this is a weird joke you can tell me, I won't be mad._ He was pathetically grateful when Ardyn's eyes focused. 

Ardyn said something soft. It was still unintelligible, but at least he was talking to him. 

Prompto left him there for a minute. When he came back with a mug, he still couldn't get Ardyn to respond, so he set it down on the coffee table and sat next to him. 

“You're just messing with me, right?” he said, trying to make his voice light. “Like always.” 

Ardyn slumped sideways. His head fell onto Prompto's shoulder, and slowly, his eyes closed. 

Eventually he got heavier, and Prompto scooted over and got him laying down. His head ended up in Prompto's lap, so Prompto just played with his hair for a while, pulling it straight and letting go to watch it go wavy again. He kept saying stuff that felt like the right kind of things to say. Like, _easy, easy_ and _I got you._

It wasn't until around then he realized it'd never occurred to him to be afraid. 

The couch smelled like Ardyn, since he slept there. Him being there was so crazy Prompto hadn't been able to think of it as permanent. He'd probably slept worse places, over two thousand years. He didn't talk about the past much, but then again, Prompto didn't ask. 

It didn't take that long, really. Maybe fifteen minutes. Then Ardyn opened his eyes, and closed them again. 

“Hey,” Prompto said softly. His fingers were in Ardyn's hair, and the strands were cool between them. “You okay?” 

_Please don't say gibberish. Please don't._

“Fine, little master,” Ardyn said, in his same old regular smarmy weird-accent voice that hit Prompto with a sandbag of relief. He pressed his face into Prompto's thigh. “Only trying not to wake.” 

“You don't have to move,” Prompto said, “if you don't want to.” 

“Mm-hm.” 

Ardyn's head was heavy on his lap. Prompto's fingers combed through his hair. You had to be careful not to go too deep and get stuck, with how it all went off in different directions. 

Prompto said, “So are you gonna tell me what happened there?” 

Ardyn's face was indistinct in the window reflection. “You could order me.” 

His hair was a deeper kind of purple, up close in this light. “I could.” 

It was dark out the window, and there was just the stand lamp on inside. Old meteorshard-saving habits died hard. 

“You cannot fault them for trying,” Ardyn said, his voice low, like how people sounded when they just woke up, “or say they did not try enough. Execution was a matter of last resort. First there were potions, ceremonies, ostentatious exorcisms. Then the notion of driving out the daemons through corporal force, on the grounds they would vacate a sufficiently unpleasant vessel. One might call it scourging out the Scourge.” 

It took Prompto a minute to sift through the way he talked to get to what he meant. Sometimes he thought Ardyn did that on purpose, to make you work for it. When it sank in, his stomach plunged.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he said, feeling faintly betrayed, like he had a right to Ardyn's past, as if this weren't all a weird game they had to play along with and he really did belong to him.

“You've shown no interest in ancient history. To be honest, I believed I had forgotten, until it rose around me once again.” 

“And I've been doing the same thing to you, all this time.” Horror clogged Prompto's throat. “Shit. Shit, I'm so sorry.” 

Ardyn's head turned, and he looked up at him through strands of purple hair. “Are you apologizing to me, little master?” 

“Well, yeah, I didn't mean to hurt--” 

The part of Ardyn's chest visible through the V of the robe was marked with red welts. 

“I mean, actually hurt you. In a not fun way.” Prompto swallowed. Unthinkingly, his hand brushed the hair back from Ardyn's forehead, but he didn't complain. “Okay. No more hitting you.” 

Ardyn's eyes widened and he started to sit up. “Now let's not be hasty.” 

Prompto didn't realize right away that what he'd done was push him back down, until he saw his own hand on Ardyn's chest. Never knew, no matter how much time and thought he gave it, why he let it stay there. “I don't want that to ever happen again. I can't- I can't do that to a person.”

Shame turned the air around his face into a hot jelly that stuck to his skin. It came with extra guilt, too. Beating him up had been meant to be a reward. 

“It would be a shame to lose the privilege of your attentions,” Ardyn said in such a quiet, regretful way that Prompto couldn't even snort at how ridiculous the exaggeration was, “and the ecstasy you have given me.” 

Prompto didn't have anything to say to that. Not if Ardyn was going to break the rules and sound like he meant things. Ardyn's eyes roved around the ceiling. His lips pursed, then relaxed, and parted. Prompto could see it in his chest when he breathed. 

“Perhaps,” he said, like handing over a delicate package, “not hung by the wrists.” 

“Yeah,” Prompto said. His eyes slid away from Ardyn's face and ran into the mug on the coffee table. “Oh, here. Sit up a second. Woah, take it slow.” 

He sat up with his left side up against Prompto's right. He didn't move away, and Prompto didn't ask him to. Prompto handed him the mug, and he looked down into the surface like he didn't recognize what it was. 

“It's tea,” Prompto said. 

He drank it slowly, though it couldn't've still been real hot. There weren't any marks on his wrists. There would have been, if somebody had strung him up and tried to beat the monsters away. Deeper and redder, depending on how long it took before they gave up. 

“Does it bother you so?” Ardyn said. He'd caught him looking. “Knowing what my countrymen have done.” 

“Yeah.” Prompto did his best at a smile and landed on _wan_. “Beating you up is supposed to be _my_ job.” 

He had this way of not quite laughing. It rumbled in his chest, like it came from under where his ribs met. 

“And you are very talented at the enjoyable sort. Yet there is a difference that means you could never hope to match them for true cruelty.” He tipped the tea from side to side, regarding it. “They were doing it for my own good.” 

Prompto didn't know what to say to that. That was one thing about Ardyn; if you didn't know what to say eventually he'd go on anyway, like music that had paused for a minute. People really must have loved him, back in the day when he was somebody else. 

"Eventually they accepted the inevitable and imprisoned me in a cave on a desolate isle. Alone with the scent of salt water, the cry of birds and crash of waves..." 

His eyes started getting distant. Prompto reached over and pinched his thigh. He blinked back to reality and gave this little wry appreciative smile. 

"The chains, of course, were no barrier to what I had become. Do you know what kept me there?" 

Prompto thought of the anti-Ardyn weapons he'd brainstormed in the night, just in case. "A big harpoon gun?" 

"Hope. Would someone come seeking me? What could there be left in the world for me, if not?" He tilted his head back to drink the rest of the tea, and in the way the robe fell open to show his chest and how his throat moved up and down, suddenly you could see a normal human guy and somebody who'd been beaten and locked up thousands of years ago both at the same time, like two photo negatives stacked on top of each other. "I could not say how long I waited before breaking free and seeking the mainland, only that I was certain any who knew me would be long dead. Only later did I learn that the island was guarded by storms and vicious currents. Had any sought me too persistently, they were bones at the bottom of the sea." 

He set the teacup on the side table, moving slowly and carefully. Prompto gestured for him to lay back down. He did, with his head heavy on Prompto's lap.

"I'm not going to feel sorry for you," Prompto said softly. "I can't." 

"I know." Ardyn's breath tickled his knee. 

"I think Noct did." His hair was good for working through, like shoelaces that were just a little bit tangled up. "How could he do that?" 

Ardyn said, "I could be given another thousand years, and that I would never understand." 

Prompto coughed out an unsteady laugh. "I guess we have some stuff in common, huh." 

"Mm." Ardyn closed his eyes. He pressed his face into Prompto's leg and stayed there for a while.


	12. Chapter 12

Ardyn woke to an empty house. 

His little master went for a run every morning through the quiet, slowly healing streets. He had done the same even during the long night, when morning was a theoretical concept. He said this with the same flat defiance with which he presented every way in which ordinary life had continued, as if Ardyn had attempted personally to stop it. He was a deceptively resilient fellow, as Ardyn had suspected before forcing him to prove it. 

In the shower, Ardyn tilted his head back and allowed himself a moment lost in the sensation of hot water on a fully human body. He and Prompto had contributed personally to the repair of the pipes. The ordinary rapture was lent an extra layer of sweetness by the sting of the welts left a few days ago. He was gentle with those, mostly, but for a little indulgence of pressing his fingertips against one that ran across his stomach. A measured pleasure, lest he lose track of time. 

Interrupted as it had been, the session had given him things to savor. Life had its little mixed blessings.

After he had dried and dressed, Ardyn put coffee on and made toast. He applied butter to one slice, avocado to the other. Prompto professed not to understand how anyone could enjoy “squishy green stuff,” yet never failed to acquire him some, now that they had become available again. The responsibility for the lapse was Ardyn's, as was the foresight to bring cultivars to this continent a few centuries ago for the sake of his future convenience, but those who grew them knew neither his credit nor his blame.

The woman at the booth in the street market called him _hon_. 

There were footfalls on the front step. Ardyn stirred sugar into one cup of coffee, cream into the other. The door did not open. He took the latter cup and ventured out onto the front steps, where the air was cool and dew-scented, and Prompto stood watching the sun's shoulders lift above the city.

Ardyn could imagine a gaze not terribly unlike his own, when the cozy walls had become shadows and candlelight, and the air had clotted to incense in his lungs. 

Though he could not quite hear his little master's whisper, he knew it was _Thanks, Noct._

Ardyn walked down the steps and stood at his side on the walkway. He took Prompto's hand and shaped it around the mug. His little master drank without paying any outward notice to where it had come from. 

Softly Ardyn said, “I had thought often on the form of the gods' chosen. I imagined him to be the sort they favor; a pious, insufferably dutiful little prig. After I came to the quay to meet my demise, I lingered where I could observe without being seen.” 

“Creepy,” Prompto said, with little attention behind it. 

“Mm. I wanted a glimpse of what he was truly like, this one born to succeed where I had failed, and to see what he would do after encountering the one whose cursed existence he was fated to end, now that our intertwined destinies were finally in play.” 

Prompto's thumb ran over the handle of the mug. His eyes were forward and far away.

Ardyn said, “He spent a great deal of time feeding a cat.” 

The eastern sky was shading from pink to blue. Sunrises had meant little when they were infinite. 

Ardyn said, “I'm glad it was him.” 

Darker asphalt showed where the street had been patched. Young trees had been fresh-planted along the sidewalk. If Ardyn cast his mind back, perhaps he would discover the memories of the creatures who had knocked the old ones down. Those echoes belonged to him alone, as did the things so clear that his little master could tell them to no one but him. 

Prompto said, “I miss him.” 

Ardyn took the risk of placing an arm around him, and was allowed. “I know.”

* * *

Prompto was beat, and Ardyn had to be worse. Today's little gas line repair project had turned into hours of digging and hauling, and Ardyn had been right in there, sweating right through his high-necked shirt. After getting cleaned up they both just collapsed on the couch for a while. 

“I can't believe how much work you did,” Prompto said. 

“Only performing my civic duty,” said Ardyn, without even the energy to sound real sarcastic. “You did as much.” 

“Well yeah, but I...” _Am a normal person? Care about the city? Am doing it without being forced to?_ Prompto didn't know where he was heading with that, so he changed directions. “I feel like I should give you something.” He held up his hand before Ardyn could say anything. “Just not something that takes a whole lot of moving.” 

It was true, and also an easier reason to say out loud, though Ardyn already knew the other one. Prompto was pretty solidly spooked by the other day. He hadn't laid a hand on him ever since it'd knocked him into the past. 

“If it's a reward you have in mind, I've a suggestion,” Ardyn said.

“Gimme the gist,” said Prompto. 

He did. 

Prompto's sigh reached down to the bottom of his chest. 

“Dude, I know you don't really like that kind of thing as much as you act like. You just want to get _me_ to like it so then you can make me feel bad about liking it.”

Ardyn's eyebrows made a pair of purple arches. “You flatter the complexity of my schemes. I assure you, little master, if you believe nothing else, believe in the honesty of my perversion.” 

“Okay, okay.” Prompto looked at him for a while. He didn't look like he was joking, though that didn't tell you much. He just looked wrung out from a long day. “You sure you want that?” 

It was probably the light that made it look like Ardyn's pupils widened just a little. “Very much.” 

Well, Ardyn was jerking him around, but there was no good reason not to let him have a little fun. His plan wasn't going to work anyway; Prompto had decided he wasn't going to feel bad about any of this, except maybe for _not_ hitting him, weirdly enough. Ardyn hadn't complained, but it was easy to tell he was getting antsy. 

“All right,” Prompto said. “C'mere.” 

Ardyn laid down on his back with his head in Prompto's lap. It was heavy, cushioned by his pile of crazy hair. He tipped his chin up like a cat waiting for a scratch. 

It was easy enough. Kind of too easy, which made it suspicious, but with Ardyn it would be a red flag if he did something _un_ suspicious. Like everything for Ardyn, even if Prompto couldn't see exactly how, he knew it was a dirty sex thing. It was kind of nice to have something that reliable in his life. 

Prompto ran his fingers along the warm leather of the collar, back and forth. He stroked the edge, where it met Ardyn's stubble-prickled skin, and his fingertips told him how fast just a little thing like that made Ardyn's pulse go. The word for that might be _power_. 

“Like that?” Prompto said softly. 

“Yes,” Ardyn said, making the collar vibrate to the touch. His eyes slid closed. “Now make it perfect.” 

Prompto watched the little basking curl on Ardyn's lips, and said, “You're mine.”

* * *

For much of the time of his existence, Ardyn had acted as an observer. He let humans be as they were in all their absurdity, unaware of their audience, and cultivated an appreciation for the things no one else was able to see. The lightless wastes at the ocean floor. Fresh lava flows that rippled the air with heat. The moment when Prompto crossed the threshold of home and dropped the shell of energy he wore for the benefit of anyone who mattered. 

Ardyn was the only one he cared little enough for to let bear witness. With him alone, Prompto's brightness dimmed and showed the stars of his grief. 

It had been a number of strange days spent in soft-edged silence, rippled rather than broken by Prompto's intermittent honesty. There was the burgeoning of a tenuous thing that could not be called trust. Rather, acceptance that the distrust Ardyn had earned no longer mattered. 

There was no one else Prompto would allow to catch him sitting at the table, flicking through the photos preserved in his camera's machinery. Noct looked so young. 

“Masochism?” Ardyn asked. 

Prompto snorted. “Like you can judge.” He tapped a button and the screen flicked to an image of the prince beside the rounded, blunt-beaked shape of a modern-bred chocobo. “But nah. I just felt like looking. Funny how clear I remember a bunch of this stuff. Like he was just here a second ago.” 

Despite his assertions, melancholy stole over his face. 

Ardyn took a seat on the opposite side of the table. “A philosopher once proposed a thought experiment.” 

“Mhm.” Prompto's eyes remained on his camera's display.

“What if a mechanism were put into place so that human beings were forgotten at the moment of their death?” 

Prompto's face rose sharply. “Like, by everybody? That's horrible.” 

“Why? Those left behind would be spared the pain of their absence.” 

“Well, yeah, but then anything good they did would get forgotten, too. It'd be like they never existed. I'd rather hurt than lose it all.” A line appeared between his eyes. “So, wait, would they, like, vanish out of pictures, too? Would history books just not be a thing?” 

“It wasn't a terribly well-thought-out experiment.” 

“It'd be easier. But it wouldn't be right, just ditching people like that.”

He fiddled with his camera for some time. Ardyn was content to watch. 

After some time, Prompto said, “That's kind of what happened to you, huh. Just without the dying part.” 

“Yes. The reason claimed was to guard against my malign influence. I venture the truth is that the gods wished to cover up their embarrassing mistake.” 

“They can't be that petty, right? They're...gods.” 

Ardyn's eyebrows arched. “You know their malice better than anyone.”

Prompto followed Ardyn's gaze to his marked hand. “Nah. Having you around is weird, but you're...”

The next words seemed to require thought and effort, as though they were a step onto the tightrope of the fragile understanding between them. 

“...not so bad.”

Ardyn gazed down at his own hand, framed in the blue of the tablecloth. “Yet it is a certain, special sort of callousness, to punish me by binding you to a constant reminder of your lost lover.” 

He looked up, seeking a matching expression of sardonic acceptance of their mutual strange circumstances. 

What he met was the purest look of loathing he had experienced in this new life. 

Prompto said, “Fuck you.” 

Ardyn blinked, trying to find where the change had occurred. “Little master?” 

“So that's the trick you've been waiting to pull.” His shoulders were taut as a close-quarters fighter's, and his lips drew back. In the course of an instant his eyes had frozen. “Don't you fucking dare try to make what we had into some dirty sex thing.” 

“I--” Ardyn's air was cut short when the compulsion gripped him by the throat. Prompto's hand was clenched into a fist, the gods' mark burning brightly. 

With the full force of his ownership, Prompto said, “Get out of my sight.” 

The unseen power was like a moving wall. There was no time for protest. Ardyn was out of the kitchen, out the door, and into the city, his legs a mechanism not his to control. He was not permitted to look back.

* * *

Walking down the avenue as evening fell, with a bit of pride when the street lights came on (they had assisted in repairing the wiring for this area), Ardyn was, for the first time in slightly over two millennia, alone. 

He was soon far enough through the quiet, mended streets that he no longer felt the hand of his little master's will pushing him onwards and could slow somewhat. The evening was fragrant with the flowering weeds of overgrown gardens. Crickets cried. He walked without purpose until he found night had fallen around him.

In a world that had ended and begun again, there were places for those who had little idea what to do with themselves. 

The library had been repurposed into a shelter for the transient, where one could find a roof and a meal in exchange for the promise to assist with the next day's labor. At the entryway, Ardyn signed onto the list of those restoring the subway tunnels. The subterranean clime suited him, and it would be far from his little master's working site. 

The woman behind the desk said, “There's some open cots in Biography.” 

His place claimed, he eventually identified the hollow sensation in his body as hunger. Recognizing the myriad desires and complaints of a mortal form took consideration, much like shaping the syllables of a forgotten language. It was to be expected. He had left before the usual ritual of at the table with his little master, sharing a meal where he would say, _Did you know that chickatrices are distant descendants of T-Rexaurs?_ and Prompto would say, _No, because you just made that up_ , and later that evening Ardyn would see him investigating on his telephone and hear a quiet, _Huh. No kidding._

Ardyn stood in line and received a bowl of lentil soup, hot and earthy, laden with pieces of meat that made him pause with his eyes closed to comprehend the way the richness and salt lingered on his tongue. There was a thick slice of brown bread that his teeth sank into, spread with butter that he licked from his fingertips. A mortal body made endless demands but offered endless reward for their satisfaction.

The place was fairly full. There were plenty of people to pick his way around before reaching his designated spot, a place on the second floor between shelves of tomes describing people Ardyn had outlived. Some were intact, others mauled by the Ahriman who had nested here in the night and shredded the paper in their mandibles. Dry. Crumbling. 

The cot creaked when he lay down on it, but held. There were the murmurs and sighs of other vagrants. Soon the lights clicked out. 

Ardyn had thought it a simple statement of acknowledged fact. That the prince and his friend loved one another had been an obvious handle by which to haul Noctis toward his destiny. He had made full use of it. 

There was no one here to make him pay for that sin.

Unaware, he had sullied sacred ground, and he would not be forgiven. He thought of that as his body's exhaustion pulled him toward sleep, and of how in gratitude for his work in purifying the Scourge from the land, Prompto had been cursed with eternal monstrous company. They really had so much in common.

The difference being, of course, that Prompto had broken his curse himself.

* * *

That smug, vicious son of a bitch. 

Of course he'd just been waiting for a chance. Prompto had been a damn amateur and left him an opening. It was Prompto's own fault for falling for it, thinking that maybe there was a speck of something real under all the games he played. Thinking he was only ninety-nine percent screwing with him, because death had changed him somehow. Thinking he was somebody you could talk to, since what could he do to hurt anything, now? 

Plenty. Of course. 

Prompto stomped back and forth through the apartment, pacing in circles like a ball bearing trapped in a crevice.

Dead, depowered, collared, and trapped, all he had to do was exactly what Prompto had always known somebody could. Somebody could look at that night when Noct was back and they'd found a bunk in a makeshift shelter in a subway station and fallen into each other, because Prompto needed to feel him as close as a person can be and to know he was real and to forget that the ten years without him had just been practice, and to feel his breath and the beard on his face and have him there because the more he could feel of him the more he could keep, always and no matter what, and somebody could say, _So you're sad because you were fucking him._

Prompto could hear it, all the sneer that had been in Ardyn's one old-fashioned word. How everything they'd had could be dismissed. _So you were doing with him what you now do with me._

Ardyn only knew ugly, filthy sex. He could never understand the kind that meant telling someone devotion you couldn't say in words. 

_When you say you miss him, you mean you miss his cock._

Prompto collapsed down on the couch and buried his face in his hands. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

It was quiet without his boots clomping around, when the blood in his ears eased up. Prompto burned through anger fast. It dissolved in him like sugar, and he was left wrung out and alone on furniture that smelled like Ardyn. 

Fine. Let him be out wherever, doing whatever. The magic leash on him wouldn't let him do much. He could be somebody else's problem for a while. Cruel and sneaky as he was. Low-down, back-biting, and conniving as he was. 

Not a single thing he'd ever been or done belonged in the same universe as Noct. 

It was a while after the sun went down before Prompto bothered to turn on any lights. He wondered if every night would have been quiet like this, if the gods hadn't given him Ardyn.

The good, strong anger was all cold ash by the time he went to bed. Just a sour taste of resignation on his tongue. He couldn't just leave Ardyn running around loose, no matter how little he wanted to see him. An undead two-thousand-year-old ex-monster guy was a responsibility. He couldn't have gotten far, and Prompto had a feeling that the connection between them could let him find Ardyn if he wanted to. 

In the morning he could make himself try. Not now. That was another thing for the bastard to laugh about. Even now, when all his power was supposed to be gone, Prompto wouldn't hunt for him in the dark.

* * *

On his first morning in exile, Ardyn woke to the scent of books. 

He ate oatmeal at an uneven folding table in the companionship of other vagrants and followed his division to work. 

The subway tracks were a mass of twisted metal that would have to be dug up before it could be relaid. By the harsh glare of floodlights Ardyn set to work, prying with a crowbar at what once had melted in a Bomb's radiance. The warmth of a nest of them, reflecting back their heat to one another. The flickering shadows on the wall. Everywhere, there were these little traps of nostalgia. 

“Well I'll be damned. That's never Chancellor Izunia?” 

A genially weedy-looking man in a jumpsuit was coming toward him. It took a moment of examining the area by the nose and eyes that changed least with age before the memory clicked into place. 

“You're that fellow from engineering,” Ardyn said, with a twinge from his lower back as he rose. Human bodies had so many of those, if you were out of the habit of taking care to avoid them. Accidents and mistakes lingered now, in aches and in scrapes on his hands. “Cyprian, was it?” 

The man broke into a smile. “Yeah. I still owe you that favor.” 

They took a break seated against a wall where the ceramic tiles had been chipped and scratched by monstrous claws, Ardyn and the man he had gotten out of trouble for some minor infraction once in another world. He'd made a habit of casting those seeds along behind him, on the off chance they might bloom into something useful later. 

“I thought you were dead for sure.” 

“So did I,” said Ardyn.

His companion passed over a thermos, sharing with the thoughtless camaraderie of those invested in a common task. “How'd you make it out?” 

“I snuck away with a few friends.” Cold tea. Ardyn swallowed it gratefully. “You know how it is. Strength in numbers.” 

“Yeah? Me, it happened I wasn't in the keep. Managed to get to high ground, hole up, and haul ass by daylight. A lot of people I knew weren't so lucky.” 

The harsh light turned the gravel gray. Ardyn's boot pushed a few fragments back and forth. “I'm sorry.” 

“Eh, well.” Cyprian shrugged. “Every Nif's got about the same story. So I made my way out here, and anyway fixing up the city seems like the thing to do. Can't tell you how many times Lucians saved my ass during the night. What about you? Going back into government?” 

“No, no. No more of that. I work for someone else now.”

“Good guy?” 

“Yes.” Ardyn looked out into the depths of the tunnel where the light did not yet reach. There was so much left to be done. “Though a real slavedriver.” 

They returned to their tasks. Ardyn pried up old track, lost in the odd meditative quality of physical labor and the sensation of using a body rather than a polite fiction in the shape of one. Strange, too, to be one of a group, seen as only another human. In days gone by that had been a fine joke. 

In the back of his mind he became aware of a presence, though he had better sense than to look. He was lifting a piece of track when someone lightened his load. He bent, and his little master helped set the steel into place. 

Prompto looked weary, red about the eyes with the sort of tired resignation that would make someone with compassion wish to draw him into their arms to rest. It may have only been the light. 

They drove the ties into place and looked down at it for a while. 

Prompto said, “Hey.” 

The metallic sounds of labor continued around them, echoed and magnified by the subway walls. As much as Ardyn might look, his little master's eyes would not rise to him.

He would order him out of the city, perhaps. It was possible that the gods' gift could provide a limitless compulsion. Something beginning with _For the rest of your life_.

Prompto said, “Come home.” 

Ardyn did not push his luck. He kept the _Yes, little master_ silent.

* * *

It felt different to return to the apartment after Ardyn had suspected he might never enter the place again. The table where Prompto dropped his gloves seemed an old friend. 

Perhaps Ardyn would be beaten now with real brutality, his little master abandoning restraint and pouring his pain on him in heedless rage. 

Wordlessly, Prompto took off his boots. He hung his coat on the hook. He went to the kitchen table, sat, and stared blindly at the surface of his telephone. 

It was to be the bad option, then. 

This was the opportunity Ardyn would have. He rested his hands on the counter and said, “May I explain?” 

“I don't care,” Prompto said dully. 

Two square of white tile lay between his hands, cool against his palms. “I meant no insult.” 

“Sure you didn't.” 

“Truly.” Delicately as a step onto unsure ice, Ardyn said, “It was once traditional for a king to share himself with his most trusted retainers. One who was not intimate with a favorite, at the least, would be considered cold.” 

The blond head lifted slightly, like wheat bending and rising in the wind. “That's...not in the history books.” 

“None of the best parts ever are.” 

Silence slid across the space between them like a paper door. 

Prompto said, “Look.” 

He picked at the tablecloth. There was an abrasion across the backs of his fingers from the work today. It was the sort of thing that Ardyn used to send his power dancing across, to wash the redness away and allow him to take a bow at his patient's amazement. 

Prompto said, “I can't let you run around on your own. But I'm not gonna beat you up or anything.”

Nothing flippant about disappointment would emerge from Ardyn's mouth. 

His sigh sounded as though it scraped the bottom of his lungs. “I don't know what I want from you.” 

There was a chance, now, to enter the forbidden territory of the shared past. There was a certain freedom to a situation that could not effectively worsen.

Ardyn said, “Do you know why I chose you as a target?”

Prompto's gaze remained on the rectangle of metal and glass. “Because even when you're basically invincible you're the kind of coward who picks off the weak one.” 

“Because I needed to motivate him.” Plain truths sat awkwardly on Ardyn's tongue. He was more accustomed to embroidery. “It was clear that he loved you very much.” 

He had needed the prince to charge ahead without a second thought. It had seemed an elegant solution, at the time. 

He was prepared to be thrown out once again, but Prompto's face was only tired. 

Quietly enough that Ardyn leaned forward over the counter, Prompto said, “You were wrong about one thing. About you being a reminder.” 

“Hm?” 

His eyes were fixed on the tablecloth. “It's not like if you weren't here I'd forget.”


	13. Chapter 13

Prompto was braced to deal with Ardyn gloating about getting under his skin. It was sort of unnerving when it turned out he didn't.

Instead, Ardyn was quiet. He gave Prompto space. He even managed a pretty good imitation of looking remorseful, though he didn't seem to be actively trying to fool anybody. It was less like a predatory fish looking like part of the coral and more like a bird echoing words it couldn't really understand. 

Out of nowhere, when they passed in the hallway, a weird, uncomfortable idea occurred to Prompto. He ended up saying out loud, “You actually didn't mean it in a bad way, did you.” 

“I did not,” Ardyn said. He knew what he was talking about right away. “Though I would still properly apologize, however you would allow.” 

His weird way of talking was a thing Prompto was used to. It kind of made things normal. “I could make you kiss my feet or something.” 

Ardyn dropped to his knees. 

“Dude!” Prompto jumped back. “Not seriously!” 

“Ah.” Ardyn gathered himself and stood up. “More's the pity.” 

“Jeez.” Prompto should've seen that coming. Ardyn's sense of humor was always going to be the thing it was. “Don't you ever get embarrassed about doing that kind of thing?” 

“Are you ashamed to wear the color of another caste, or to see the bare elbows of a married man?” 

“What? No. Wait. Should I be?” 

Ardyn laughed quietly. “I mean to say, what is considered worth being embarrassed about depends much on time and place. It changes so quickly one can hardly be bothered to keep track. Thus, for an immortal, shame is the first thing to go.” 

“So you're not embarrassed about anything, ever?” It added up with how Ardyn acted, but it was hard to imagine just doing whatever you wanted and never caring what anybody thought. “What about somebody, like, walking in on you beating off?” 

“If it was you, little master? I certainly wouldn't mind.” It was almost nice to hear him joke around like he was flirting again. Stood to reason, anyway. Prompto had seen his dick plenty already. “But there is no opportunity for such a thing. You mustn't think me so poor a pet as to indulge without your permission.” 

It took Prompto a second to work through what he was saying there. Then he stared. 

“You're telling me you never.” 

Ardyn gave him a guileless look, which was as weird as seeing him clean-shaven would have been. “Why, no.” 

“Even though being a magic zombie makes you hot all the time.” 

“While that is not precisely how I would describe my condition, it makes me rather susceptible to sensation, yes. Yet I refrain. Any pleasure of mine is your sole prerogative.” 

Prompto looked at him close. “Come on. You're messing with me.” 

Ardyn put his hand over his heart. He had one of those, now, at least technically. “I vow it is the honest truth.” 

It wasn't like he had much of a chance. Him being gone for a day had made Prompto realize just how much he was by his side. Prompto leaned against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. 

“You only come when I let you?” 

“Mm.” Ardyn's eyes went half-closed. “Make that a statement, and say it more cruelly.” 

Prompto's eyes rolled more on reflex than anything. He paused, thoughtful. “Actually, that's kind of interesting.” 

It set some ideas stirring in his mind. Whether it was true or not, there were things he could do with that information.

Like call Ardyn's bluff.

* * *

“Take your clothes off and get on the bed.”

With only a quick glance at the things on the nightside table, Ardyn did, and Prompto reflexively thought _good boy_. Ardyn put his arms up in position, and Prompto took the rope from what he might as well call the rope drawer now and tied his left hand to the headboard. 

“Leaving the job half-done?” Ardyn said. 

Prompto tossed the lube at him. It bounced on his purple-haired chest. “This time you're doing all the work.” 

“Oh?” The tied hand flexed. Prompto wasn't sure he believed that story about not ever beating off, but Ardyn got fired up quick enough to make it plausible. “Well then, little master. Tell me what you would like to see, and I will do all I can to please you.” 

“Uh-huh,” Prompto said blandly. He took the dildo from the table and tossed it from hand to hand. “Touch yourself. Get yourself ready, too.” 

He didn't say make a show out of it, but Ardyn did anyway, putting a lot of energy into rolling his hips and making little moans as he alternated between stroking his dick and working his fingers up his ass. Prompto pulled a chair up, rested his chin on his hands, and watched. 

His own indifference interested him. There'd been times in his life when just remembering breasts existed could make him sweat, and now he could watch this guy play with his balls for him and feel a broad, calm nothing. Whatever obscene stuff Prompto did to it, Ardyn's body was just a thing that existed near him, sexless as weather. It wasn't that he was ugly. He was actually in pretty good shape for an old guy, especially after all this time doing hard physical work. It wouldn't be a bad body, if there had been somebody else inside it. In any case, Prompto liked watching him try so hard to get a rise out of him, just because it was satisfying to see Ardyn not get what he wanted. 

“Oh,” Prompto said like an afterthought, when Ardyn was panting and his toes were curling, “don't come til I give you permission.” 

Ardyn smiled with his eyes half-closed, his hand moving lazily back and forth over his cock. Of course he liked having an audience. “Will you punish me if I do?”

“Nah, that wouldn't be fair. It's not your fault you don't have any self-control.” He toyed with the dildo, feeling the heft. “I'll just be disappointed.” 

Ardyn's eyes snapped wide and his hand froze. “You monster,” he said, approvingly. 

Prompto grinned. “Keep going!” 

He expected Ardyn to give up on the game pretty fast, but three times, without hesitation, he yanked his hand away and grabbed onto the sheets by his side. He was coated in sweat and pink from the work. When he reached for his cock again, Prompto said, “Okay, hand up.” 

He must've thought this meant the game was going to be over. He slapped his wrist right against the headboard. Prompto tied it good and secure, then gave him the pat on his thigh that told him to pull his legs up.

“My turn for a while,” Prompto explained. “Rules still apply, though. No coming til I say, or I won't like it.” 

The fun, mean part was making Ardyn pretend like that was a threat he cared about. All he had to do was stop acting like he loved doing stuff for his 'little master,' but he was a real stubborn guy. Prompto was kind of curious how far he could push.

Ardyn had prepped himself pretty well, but getting the toy in still took some work. It wasn't a small one. He moaned real loud, and his thighs trembled. 

“You have to tell me if it's too much,” Prompto said, trying to glare masterfully. “No flipping out on me again. That's an order. Got it?” 

“Of course, little master.” 

Ardyn was pretty worked up. His cock was a dark color and he pushed back on the toy all Prompto let him, which wasn't much. It was fun to see the smug bastard having a hard time.

“You know, I haven't decided how long I'm gonna make you wait.” Something occurred to Prompto, and he brightened up. He moved the toy in and out, slow and steady. “Actually, it's totally up to me if you get to come at all, huh.” 

“Entirely your prerogative,” Ardyn said. It sounded like it took him some work to focus on talking, and Prompto wasn't going to make it any easier. 

He stood over him with one hand digging fingers into his thigh and realized too late that this was a mistake. He was still mad at Ardyn and the thing he'd said about Noct, how he'd laid a hand on something he had no right to. The anger still there like a piece of tinfoil shoved into the back of a drawer. He could feel it when he bit down, and it put nastiness in the game. 

Prompto gave the toy a couple quick pushes and pulls. “So I can just make you say whatever.” 

“I imagine...” Ardyn's tongue moved over his lips, and it took him a second to pick up his train of thought. “...you can.” 

Prompto slowed down some to let him think easier, and the groan he got fed the ugly creature that was watching from inside his head. 

“Say please.” 

“Please,” Ardyn murmured. The muscles in his shoulders flexed when he pulled at the ropes. 

Prompto moved the toy a little harder than was nice. It was just a game. He was just playing around. “Say you're sorry you're such an asshole.” 

“An utterly wicked degenerate,” Ardyn agreed. He interrupted his hard breathing to swallow. “I am so very sorry.” 

The corner of Prompto's smile cut into his cheek. He leaned forward and braced a knee on the bed. “Tell me I'm cute.” 

“Hopelessly beautiful.” Ardyn's cock lay leaking on his stomach. His lips were doing that cat-curve thing. “Radiant. Enthralling.” 

“Say how much you want to fuck me.” 

Ardyn's breath was a fast shudder, like grabbing air above water before plunging down again. “Desperately. There is nothing I would not give to take you in my arms and bring you satisfaction.” 

The mattress sank when Prompto shifted his weight forward. Just to make sure he had Ardyn's attention, he stopped his hand for a second, and got a cry of want and a totally useless jerk of Ardyn's hips. 

He put his lips right by Ardyn's ear and whispered, “You don't ever get to.” 

Ardyn was hit with a whole body shudder, and his mouth fell open in what looked like pain. There was so much black in his eyes you could barely see the yellow. 

“Yes,” he breathed. “More.” 

Prompto started moving the dildo again, and he wasn't taking it easy. The inside of his head was hot, like sand in the sun. He wanted to make Ardyn squirm. 

“You know what I should do? I should find a good-looking guy. I should bring him home. Tie you up.” 

Ardyn's heavy breathing had to be grating on his throat. His chest was jouncing up and down, and he was looking at Prompto too hard to blink. There was a _haah_ to his voice every time the toy sank deep. 

“And I should let him have me.” Prompto's voice was full of jagged parts. He shoved the dildo in, and Ardyn lifted his hips and whimpered. “Would that mean anything to you? Would you care enough that it'd hurt?” 

“Agony, little master,” Ardyn whispered, lifting his body up like he was basking in the sun. 

Prompto was going too far, this was supposed to be just some dirty fun but the brakes were failing, and it felt as good as digging his nails into Ardyn's hip. The anger was a black putty caught between his muscle and bone, scraped out and coming free. 

“I'd make you hear me scream.” He dragged the dildo out and shoved it in. “Bet you'd like that.” 

He moved faster, harder, and Ardyn bit down hard on his lip and croaked out something wordless. 

The cold, ugly anger grabbed Prompto by the jaw and took his mouth way from him. “If Noct was here, I'd let him fuck me in front of you. I'd beg him for more, and kiss him, and be his, over and over until he's everything to me and I can't even remember you're there. That's all I ever want to do.” 

Ardyn's body was rocking into his thrusts. His eyes were shut tight, and sounds kept falling from between his lips. “Yes. Give it all to me. Yes.” 

Prompto braced his other hand on Ardyn's stomach, pushing down with the heel so he could lean in close and feel the raggedness of Ardyn's breath on his forehead. “But I can't. Because he's gone." 

Something snapped inside him. 

He surged upright, backhanded Ardyn across the face, and shouted, “Because of _you!_ ” 

Ardyn made exactly the animal sound of pain he deserved. 

Prompto grabbed him by the cock and moved both hands, fast and vicious. Ardyn kept making noise, clawing at the air with his tied up hands and scraping the sheets with his toes, fighting his body because he'd been told. 

“Come, you son of a bitch,” Prompto said between bared teeth. He wanted to make him while Noct was there above them.

Ardyn jerked and snapped rigid, and spilled over his hand. It started and went on, with Ardyn's back arching, and the bed shook when he fell back down.

Prompto wiped his hand off on Ardyn's chest. He pulled the toy out, tossed it on the floor, and pulled the knots of the ropes loose with hands that wouldn't stay steady. When he crumbled it was into Ardyn's arms, and the tears were caught on his sweaty shoulder.

“I loved him.” The sob shook Prompto from the stomach out. “I loved him so much.” 

Ardyn's hand stroked through his hair. “I know.” 

He cried himself dry there. It didn't really take that long to get the pieces of himself back together again. It felt like it was okay to stay there a while. 

“I really did a number on you, huh,” Prompto said, in a weak voice that sounded a little more like the regular him. He was sore and wrung out, and it had to be a lot worse for Ardyn. He wasn't quite ready to look at him yet, so he said it into his shoulder. 

“Exquisitely,” Ardyn said. 

Prompto smiled faintly. Of course even now Ardyn could sound like a dork. “So how many times do we do this catharsis thing before it takes?” 

“Opinions vary.” Ardyn's fingers brushed the nape of his neck, and just for a minute, in the space of truce they'd bought, it could be okay that it felt good. “Much depends on the patient.”

* * *

Though the sweet ache fled Ardyn's body all too quickly, the change in Prompto's demeanor proved more enduring. He had a deceptive strength that could be seen in the energy and cheer he wore for the benefit of the other rebuilders of this shattered world as well as the quiet moments when he forgot he was not alone. He was quiet in a calm fashion, focused on his duties when in public and less given to listless moods when not. It was a state where overtures from Ardyn amused him, and thus could be indulged in so long as they were effusive enough to be sardonic. 

“Hey, could you get the milk?” Prompto said at the breakfast table, hair falling loose over his forehead. The length was remarkable in these rare moments when it was not yet sculpted into place.

“I would fetch the moon for your regard, my dear little master.” 

“You are so weird. Oh, thanks.” He poured placid milk over cereal. “You know, it's funny how people say that stuff. Those cheesy movie lines. What if somebody actually did it? I mean, the possible kind. Like, if some guy walked five hundred miles to see somebody smile and was all, 'oh, yeah, that took like a month and was so not worth it.'” 

“It only takes a fortnight or so, really.” 

Prompto's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “Seriously? You did that?”

“Why yes, though not for anyone's sake. It was a century with a fad for pilgrimage, and what is the fun of those without a malign influence to haunt the way?” 

“Huh. I guess it doesn't matter so much when you don't get hungry or tired, and you have forever. Even if you're just doing it to be a jerk. It's not really the same as doing something crazy hard just because you're into somebody.”

“Invulnerability does rather rob gestures of their grandness, as does the lack of inspiration. However, I have lost one and gained the other.” Ardyn's blood stirred, as it did so easily in Prompto's presence. After a fair eternity of feeling little, a body subject to frequent, helpless arousal made for a magnificent contrast. “Were it for you, I would perform any service you could name, be it ever so painful or humiliating.” 

“Like you wouldn't do that for fun anyway.” Prompto's eyes roved toward the ceiling. Ardyn picked up the box of cereal and tilted toward his own empty bowl. “It'd have to be something just pointless and stupid. Like, don't eat for a day and you can kiss me once.” 

Ardyn set the cereal box down and fastened the top. 

“Not even on the mouth,” Prompto amended with haste. “And just for a second.” 

Ardyn put the bowl back in the cupboard, sat at the table, and folded his hands. 

Prompto gazed at him for a long moment before shrugging and returning to his crunching. “Suit yourself.” 

Physical labor had become a routine that Ardyn's muscles enjoyed. Encouraged by the healthy spite of knowing he was meant to be miserable, he found new things to appreciate every day, such as the scent of lumber or the sensation of a loop of telephone wire in his hands. 

When they broke for lunch beneath a tree that had survived the daemon-claw gouges in its trunk, Prompto held out a bagged sandwich to him. A simple thing, with the savor of cured meat and the crispness of lettuce, cut into triangles because _it tastes better that way. That's just, like, science._ “You want some?” 

The look on Prompto's face was curiosity, as suited the study of a not quite known variable.

Ardyn leaned back and felt the grass beneath his palms. “Perhaps later.” 

A human could go a remarkable length of time without food with little ill effect. One day was nothing at all. Yet the body made known its objection, as it did every petty complaint of heat, strain, or discomfort that meant one was full of rushing blood and alive in a way that mattered. Hunger was a sensation to savor. To one who had been bound in darkness, all colors, dim or garish, held beauty. 

In the evening they stopped by a stall selling skewers of fragrant meat. As was customary, Prompto rifled through his wallet and said, “What do you want?” 

His tone was casual, and the glimpse from the corner of his eye revealed curiosity without detectable dread. Ardyn politely declined. 

Prompto went about his business, now and then casting Ardyn appraising glances. The desire for food was an interesting passing event. It was not a permanent state, such as the shift that had occurred when Ardyn's body had forever become a thing his little master had once kissed. He thought on that as he went to sleep, his empty stomach comforted by a promise. 

In the morning Prompto stood half-clad in the kitchen, yawned, further ruffled his hair, and said, “Okay. Deal's a deal, I guess.” 

A warm pulse spread through Ardyn's body. He had half expected a negation of their agreement. He should have had more faith; the boy had an endearingly firm belief in fairness. 

“A kiss,” Ardyn said. He stepped forward, the tile cool beneath his bare feet. Senses could grow further more acute when they were called upon. 

Prompto stood and watched him. “Yeah.” 

With lazy grace, Ardyn folded to his knees before him. He let his hands lift, slowly, to hover in reach of the waistband of Prompto's pants. “May I?”

A wince passed over Prompto's face, in his surety that Ardyn's goal had always been to find a loophole that would bring him distress. “I did say anywhere. No taking it back now.” 

His skin was pale here in contrast to his sun-browned arms, and the freckles stood out distinctly where they dotted his hip and the plane of his stomach. Any of the muscles there would be a fine place to scatter dozens of kisses, had Ardyn infinite to spend, to see if it would make him jump and laugh. His skin smelled warm with sleep. 

Ardyn set his thumbs against the waistband on the right side, and pulled it downwards the inch he required. Eyes upward, bound to the rapt blue stare, he placed a slow kiss just above the curve of bone at his little master's hip. He held it just for a moment to let it settle into a place of honor in his memory, and to absorb the widening of Prompto's pupils and the twitch of his stomach when he caught his breath. To know that he had, for the first time, caused a quickening of his little master's heart. 

Ardyn withdrew and stood. He did not lick his lips, but let the salt there linger. 

“See?” Prompto said. An unsure smile skimmed across his face. “Totally not worth it.” 

He readjusted his pants. His hands moved quickly in several directions, as if beset with energy and unsure how to direct it. 

“Anyway,” he said, drawing his usual brightness around him, “eat some breakfast. You're freaking me out.” 

“Anything you say, little master,” said Ardyn, redirecting a too-revealing gaze to the safe harbor of indifferent eggs. 

Prompto laughed. “ _So_ weird.”

* * *

It was sooner after the last session than usual, but Prompto wanted to test how he felt.

After he'd tied Ardyn up and smacked him around some with a stick, he felt better, because the conclusion was he didn't feel much of anything. Just like he was supposed to. Like always, it was interesting to watch Ardyn twitching and gasping out numbers at each hit. Prompto made him count now to make sure his head was staying where it belonged. He could probably make him beg for more each time, but having him say the same thing over and over would get old fast. He just kept it steady, let his arm get a workout, and kind of zoned out until he remembered to say, _Oh yeah, you can come if you want_. It was kind of funny how quick Ardyn did. You didn't even have to touch his dick. He really liked having his nipples hit. 

After that Prompto went and stuck the stick in the umbrella stand, then came back and untied him. Ardyn kept his eyes closed, lowered his arms, and started running his fingers over his welts. 

“Wondrous creature. You are so very good to me.” He was a real afterglow-babble kind of guy. 

“Uh-huh.” Prompto put the rope away in its drawer. He had a whole lot of drawers with interesting stuff now, and some ideas for more to pick up. “You want lasagna tonight? I think there's still some in the freezer.” 

Every time he went to talk to Iggy he came away with a cooler full of food. That they were in two-portion packs was as close as they came to acknowledging Ardyn was around. It wasn't something either of them really felt like talking about. First because it was terrible, and now because at this point bringing it up would just be awkward. 

“You should see your face in the moment, little master,” Ardyn purred. He pressed his palm where a bunch of pink lines met in the center of his chest. “You are glorious. So cold.” 

“You know,” Prompto said, a little amused, “if you get yourself all worked up again, I'm not gonna let you do anything about it.” 

Ardyn just smiled like a cat lounging in the sun. “Do these memories ever move you, in retrospect? In privacy, do you give yourself pleasure to the image of my suffering?” 

Prompto's line here was, _Snort. “Don't flatter yourself.” Smack on the thigh. “Up.” An order to change the sheets._

His hands stopped moving, and he said, “Um.” 

He didn't look up, but he could hear Ardyn raise up on his elbows. “Little master?”

“Um.” Heat was climbing up Prompto's neck. “I don't.” 

“Ah, well,” Ardyn sighed. “Only a bit of wishful thinking. Anyone would be lucky to feature in your fantasies.” 

“I mean.” There wasn't any reason to say this. It wasn't like it was any of Ardyn's business. “I don't.” 

The quiet meant Ardyn had gone still.

“Not at all?” He sounded awed, like he'd just seen something half amazing and half tragic. “You deprive yourself?” 

“Nah. Just.” Hey there, floor. Really should vacuum you more often. “Haven't felt like it.” 

He could still feel Ardyn's kiss on his hip. Soft, with a scratch of stubble around it. He'd thought it would be bad like before, but it wasn't. 

There'd been people, during the night. Times when you didn't know if anybody was going to make it to tomorrow, you got lonely and scared, and when you could share space with somebody and remember you were human, it helped. When Noct came back and he confessed he hadn't been faithful he'd said, _It was ten years. I don't want you to be alone when I'm not there,_ and Prompto had kissed him hard enough to drown out the sound of the future. 

After the sun rose, there'd been too much other stuff to do. He couldn't exactly bring somebody home when Ardyn was here, anyway. That'd be an awkward conversation. He'd tried jerking off now and then, but mostly it didn't feel worth the effort. He felt Ardyn's eyes on him and didn't want to know what they looked like.

“I don't suppose,” Ardyn said delicately, “you would allow me to offer my assistance.” 

“Dude, no,” Prompto said, so quick that he felt like an asshole right after. He took the risk of looking up, and Ardyn was just sitting naked on the edge of the bed, his hair all tangled up and welts on him, wearing a searching, open look. “I mean. I'm not just gonna use you like a sex toy. Nobody deserves that, not even a jerk.” 

Ardyn cocked his head. “Would it help to tell you I find the notion intensely arousing?” 

Despite himself, Prompto laughed. “Man, you are horny enough for the both of us.” 

Ardyn did a sweaty naked seated bow. “So I shall strive to be.”


	14. Chapter 14

It wasn't easy to look at Ardyn when there was actually something important to say. The whole walk home it was probably obvious that Prompto was trying to think of a way to bring something up, but Ardyn didn't ask. Two thousand years gave you a lot of patience. 

“So,” Prompto tried, “you were on your own for a pretty long time there. Were you, uh, good?”

“A paragon of diligence,” Ardyn said, as they went from one puddle of streetlight to another. 

“Oh. Good.” Prompto shoved his hands in his pockets and jangled the change there. They'd just kept using regular money all through the night, and they were going to have to start printing more pretty soon. Government was way more complicated when you had to do stuff besides keep the monsters away and stay alive. “So. Hey. We were thinking.” 

“Yes?” He was a swooping purple area in Prompto's peripheral vision. These days he wore any color except for black. 

“We...Me and the guys. An old friend's in town, and we were all talking.” Prompto watched the cracks on the sidewalk go by under his feet. “We kinda broke the rule about not talking about you. Since he's one of the only other people who knows who you are. He's found some old stuff that had you in it, during the night.” 

“He must be a diligent fellow. It was well hidden.” 

Prompto took a deep breath and spat it out. “Look, we want to put you back. In history.” 

Ardyn's steps stayed steady. After a few he said, “Ah.” 

“I mean, not right away! Not, like, tell people everything right now.” That'd just rip open old wounds. He didn't want anybody taking out their anger on Ardyn. 

_Anybody else_ , a part of him pointed out. 

“Anyway,” Prompto said hastily, “the idea is, he can talk to you. Write stuff down. Then make it public once we're all, uh, super dead.” 

He was pretty sure he felt Ardyn's eyes on him. He kept himself facing straight ahead. 

“That would be acceptable to you?” Ardyn's voice had a lot of things in it that Prompto couldn't start to sort out. 

“Yeah. Cutting you out of everything, that's just lying. You're part of the past, and part of Noct's story, too. People in the future should know the whole thing.” In his pocket, he rubbed a coin between his thumb and finger. “If you want.” 

Ardyn was quiet long enough to think up something real grandiose. He was breathing very evenly, like he did sometimes when he'd been tied up for a while.

When they were almost at the front door, he said, “I would like that, little master.”

* * *

When Talcott went wide-eyed and said, “You're Ardyn Lucis Caelum,” it seemed to take a second for Ardyn to recognize that he was right.

Prompto and the guys had filled him in on the whole weird setup. His eyes only went to the collar for a second. They sat down in the living room with Talcott's notebook and paper on his lap and a tape recorder on the table between them (“I know it's kind of old-fashioned, but I'm used to it.” “Oh, believe me, I understand.”) and Prompto made coffee, because that was a thing you did. 

Then he took his glove off, and that made one more person who had seen the mark on his hand. You didn't really have to make a fist, but he always ended up doing it anyway. 

Prompto said, “Tell the truth.” 

Talcott took his nod as the cue and leaned forward. “When were you born?” 

Ardyn had his hands folded over his knee, and for a surreal second it was like he was on a talk show. “Ramuh's left-hand month, the day of grain in ear, year four hundred twenty-two by local reckoning. That would be approximately two thousand years ago, though I confess I never bothered to perform an exact conversion.” 

“Right.” Talcott was half amazed and half busy writing things down. Prompto had almost forgotten what it was like for Ardyn's age to be a surprise. “That'd be a long time before there was a standard calendar.” 

“A matter of vigorous debate, in the day. There were two conflicting schools of thought. Eventually one won out.”

“What happened to the other one?” 

“Lost to the ages. Possibly due to much of its pioneer's writings being dropped down a well after his death. Terribly rude fellow.” 

Prompto'd thought it would all be about Noct or daemons, stuff that hurt, but they went off the rails pretty much right away. It turned out to all be about things he'd been at and people he'd known, like that one famous philosopher guy (“Absolutely insufferable in person”) and the lady who'd basically invented the way government worked (“Quite clever. Never once paid her own bar tab.”), and in general a lot of names that Talcott recognized and Prompto didn't. It was strange to watch Ardyn this way, like he was out at brunch, like somebody normal in every way except that he had a lot of stories to tell. His eyes lit up and he kept making Talcott laugh. He looked like somebody you could imagine once having been young. 

He'd never talked to Prompto like that. 

Before they got anywhere near Niflheim, the tape clicked to a stop. It was weird to think that the plastic rectangle Talcott pocketed held a black ribbon full of Ardyn's voice.

“I'm going to be making a delivery in town again pretty soon. Could I come back?”

It took Prompto a second to realize Talcott was talking to him. Ardyn's face was openly hopeful.

“Sure,” he said. 

Even with Ardyn's humming, it felt quiet when Talcott was gone. Prompto sat at the table and stared at his phone, thinking about the weird sort of embarrassment that came from forgetting that Ardyn had ever been things besides a monster or his prisoner. 

Ardyn's shadow passed over the table as he walked by. “Ah, I forgot to mention Avisare's fig trees. Ironic, as they were the only thing _he_ ever wished to talked about. Are you all right?” 

“Yeah,” said Prompto, and since it was only half a lie, “it's just weird, how you've been around here for this long and I don't really know much about you. All the immortal guy stuff.” 

Like how 'immortal' meant more than just that they couldn't kill him. 

Ardyn's hand rested on the back of the empty chair. “I had thought speaking of it would distress you.” 

The distressing thing was Ardyn acting like he cared about distressing him, but Prompto wouldn't give him the satisfaction of pointing that out. He definitely already knew. “I mean, not the bad parts. Just, like, cool stuff you've done.” 

“I would gladly regale you. Where shall we begin?” 

“Like, have you ever...wait.” The idea that popped into Prompto's head lit him up like a flashbulb, and he jumped up and jogged into the kitchen. 

“Whatever are you doing?” Ardyn called. 

“Hold on, hold on!” Prompto rummaged through the cabinets. Where'd he put it? Oh, right there under the sink. “There's a right way to do this.”

* * *

“Just a sip, not a full shot. This stuff is strong.”

“Understood, little master. I have never-” 

“No dude, you have to say it right.”

“Really? Why?” 

“Cause it's the rule!” 

“All right, all right. Never have I ever paid my taxes.”

“Come on, that's boring.” 

“Not when the taxman is a fellow with a broadaxe. Ah, people used to be _persistent_ in those days.” 

“Okay, that's one drink for me. Ngh. Never have I ever lived in a cave.” 

“I will take the point, but protest that I am not by any means old enough to be a caveman. It was simply a convenient place to take shelter during a tedious decade. Oh! What _is_ this vile brew?” 

“Good ol' Meldacio moonshine. They've got it down to a science. When the sun went down, basically the first thing people did was start making darkness world prison hooch.” 

“It's hideous. Give me more. All right, never have I ever attended school.” 

“Aw, cheap shot. Wait, then how do you know how to read and stuff?” 

“By experience and having a naturally inquisitive mind. You know how it is, a few ideograms here, some cuneiform there.” 

“I don't even wanna know what that is. Never have I ever started a cult. Woah, seriously?” 

“To be fair, in a year with a prominent comet they practically start themselves. In any case, it was short-lived. Far too much work for far too many people with the whites of their eyes showing all round all the time. Never have I ever...oh, what's a young person thing...loitered about in a herd in front of a convenience store smoking cigarettes and pestering women. Is that so amusing?” 

“Yeah, do you think I'm from a movie from fifty years ago? Nobody does that! Never have I ever milked a sheep.” 

“Someone had to. Mn. I'm nearly getting used to this devil's ichor.” 

“Yeah, your mouth kinda dies after a little. You were seriously a farmer?” 

“I spent some time as a hand on a widow's farm, working for room and board. Luckily she was old and nearsighted enough not to much notice how little avail I took of the latter. I technically required neither, but lying in the snow consorting with daemons grows tiresome, and I have a place in my heart for the stubborn. Never have I ever destroyed an armed automaton with my bare hands.” 

“Fine, but using stuff you already know is cheating. Never have I ever eaten a rat. _Dude!_ ” 

“You asked.” 

“You just said you didn't even have to eat!” 

“Its scrabbling about was irritating me. That was a way to be rid of it.” 

“There are so many other ways! But just, _how_?” 

“Disgust is a mechanism for the body to avoid causes of illness. Daemons lack that vulnerability and thus have no use for the sensation.” 

“Ugh, and I _kissed_ you!” 

“Strewth, come now. It was several hundred years ago and I brush my teeth regularly.” 

“Okay, hurry up and say something so I can not ever think about that again.” 

“Mm. Never have I ever met anyone with a more adorable way of rubbing his nose when he laughs.” 

“Pft, you just wasted your turn, loser. Never have I...oh, oh! Never have I ever built a secret base under something. Hah, I knew it!” 

“If you know a better place for a secret base than under something, I'd like to hear it. Now, hm, what are those pastries called? The rolled ones, with the cinnamon inside?”

“Cinnamon rolls?” 

“Ah, yes. Never have I ever eaten one of those.”

“You've eaten a _rat_ but not a cinnamon roll?” 

“I suppose I could never be bothered. Though there was a charming little bakery, sometime around the turn of the- oh, odd's bodkins.” 

“Party foul! That's what you get for waving your hands around all the time. Hold on, I'll grab a towel.” 

“You shall do no such thing. As a humble slave bound to your service, I shall...nh. Perhaps stand a moment and gather my bearings.” 

“Wow, are you drunk already? For a giant guy, you're a lightweight.”

“Mine is a virginal body given by the Glacian's will, untouched by vices, pure as her driven snow.”

“Uh, I don't know about that, but I guess having a brand-new body makes you basically a freshman.”

“Essentially. Right, onwards.” 

“Woah! Gotcha. Okay, game over, I don't want anybody puking on the floor. Let's get you some water.” 

“Your touch is ambrosia.” 

“Jeez, you're like trying to carry a mattress. Wait a minute, does this mean I drank you under the table? I never get to drink anybody under the table!” 

“Of course not. You're so tiny. Like a little frolicksome wood sprite.” 

“Heh. At least you're a happy drunk. Okay, easy, siddown. Here you go.”

“What could I be but happy? Do you understand, little master, the magnitude of the boon you have granted me?”

“Giving you water?” 

“Giving me a place in history.”

“I mean, it's not done yet. But we can work on it.”

“You are aware to do so defies the will of the gods?”

“It's what Noct would want. I don't care what the gods think.”

“That is the most violently attractive thing anyone has ever said to me.” 

“It'd make a real weird pickup line. Aw hey, I have a good one I didn't get to use. Never have I ever not bothered to figure my own birthday out.”

“Now, that isn't fair. There was a perfectly good reason for that.”

“Yeah?” 

“Until quite recently, I could not recall it.”

“Huh. Really?”

“So much has changed... The distant past has come nearer, bearing that old stranger...”

“Hey, stick to the present, buddy.”

“...”

“Or pass out on the table. That's good too.”

* * *

Ardyn woke to an unpleasant wooliness in his mouth and an unwelcomely cheery “Rise and shine!” in his ears. He forced his eyelids open and groaned eloquently. 

Prompto stood before the couch clad in exercise clothes and coated in sweat, holding a white paper bag. His hair was tousled from wind and effort, and his breath was quick. 

“Good morning, my beautiful little master,” Ardyn said.

It was a foolish slip, and for a moment Prompto looked unnerved. Then he smiled. “Man, you are real dedicated if you can even keep it up hung over. Hurry and eat breakfast. There's a ton to do today!” 

He dropped the bag on the table and sprited off.

“Frolicksome,” Ardyn murmured to himself. 

He sat up, finding himself fully clothed, and drank deeply from the glass of water on the table. He didn't recall putting that there, covering himself with a blanket, or, in fact, getting to the couch at all. He ached obscurely, and his body was giving several compounding reports of discomfort. Such were the consequences of enjoying oneself when mortal. 

He opened the little bag, and the sound of his own laughter was loud enough to make him wince. 

Inside, nestled in paper, was a cinnamon roll.


	15. Chapter 15

One fun thing to do was to tie Ardyn up with one hand free and make him beat off. If Prompto watched close, he could catch the second when him deliberately putting on a show switched over to him panting and arching because he needed to. 

“Stop,” Prompto said. 

He wanted to see how many times he could say it before Ardyn wouldn't. By the fourth time, he still yanked his hand away and grabbed the sheets. It was interesting to see how his thighs were shaking and he was breathing like a runner trying to make it another step. 

After a minute Prompto said, “Okay, do it again.” 

“So gloriously cruel, little master,” Ardyn purred while his fingertips went up and down his cock. “Will you torment me all night until I am shuddering and delirious, capable of nothing but pleading for your mercy?” 

“I could, huh.” Prompto shifted on the chair at the foot of the bed. “It's kinda neat to make you do all the work. If I fell asleep, would you cheat?” 

“Why, I would never!” 

“So that's a yes.” The stronger Ardyn said one thing, the surer you could be of the opposite. He was pretty dependable that way. “Wow, your dick's a way dark color. You must really be wanting to come around now.” 

Ardyn clenched his teeth and hissed in air. He kept his hand moving like a good boy. “Maddeningly.” 

“I guess I could maybe let you.” Prompto swung his legs up over the arm of the chair. “If you...ooh, or _or_. I could make you give up something you super want to do.” 

Ardyn's eyes lit up. “Would you cost me food? Water? Sleep deprivation, ahh, that is a classic. I will pay however you like, only, mm, grant me release...” 

“Nah, something you want way more than that.” Prompto grinned. Teasing him was kind of a kick. “You can come, _or_ , you can kiss my feet.” 

Ardyn's hand flew away and clawed in the sheets. 

Huh. 

“That was the joke option, dude,” Prompto pointed out.

Ardyn's hips tilted upward and his ass kept clenching. Sweat made his hair darker purple by his forehead. “Do you withdraw the offer?” 

Well, a promise was a promise. 

Prompto was just going to put his foot up on the bed, but Ardyn said he wanted to do it right. So when he got untied he got down on his hands and knees.

His lips were warm and soft. He did it slow, like he was taking his time to do a good job, working from the ankle down to the toes. His stubble was wiry, and tickled, but Prompto didn't feel any urge to laugh.

* * *

So they had a new game. Prompto would tie Ardyn up and smack him around or make him beat off, and sometimes – only sometimes, all the time would be too mean, and it was more fun to be unpredictable – he'd give him a choice. 

Man, Ardyn must have dreaded hearing, _You can come, or._ He never complained, though, even when he had to opt into something painful, embarrassing, or just obviously not worth it. Prompto was sticking his hand in a behemoth's mouth here, but he was curious how far he could push it before it wasn't the fun kind of mean anymore, or until Ardyn let the act slip. He was getting plenty of fun out of playing along with the joke that he was the hottest thing on the planet. There wasn't anybody who didn't like to hear they were gorgeous enough to knock a daemon on his knees. 

“You can come,” he said, patting Ardyn's stomach, “or you can suck on my fingers.” 

He did it with his eyes closed, two at a time, and made little hums that tingled on Prompto's skin. 

When Ardyn was standing with his hands against the wall, panting, with red marks all over his back and ass, Prompto said, “You can come, orrrr...I can put my coat on and give you a big hug.” 

Ardyn shivered. “Then I beg a moment, that the latter not result in the former.” 

It took a minute to get the coat on anyway, especially when Prompto was going out of his way to take his time and make all the buckles jingle. 

Ardyn's body was huge and solid when Prompto wrapped his arms around it from behind and squeezed tight, pressing all the rough fabric and metal bits into the fresh welts, and he gasped hard enough that Prompto had to check to make sure he hadn't broken the rules after all. 

One time, just when Ardyn's toes were curling and his voice was getting sharp, Prompto said, “You can come, or I can call you names.” 

So Ardyn put pants on and sat on the bed cross-legged. Prompto got as far as “slut” before he realized he didn't really know how to do this. 

“Big...slut?” he attempted. 

Ardyn nodded encouragingly. “Yes, that's right.”

“You're, uh, a whore. Totally into dick. That's your thing.” 

“Do go on.” 

Ardyn sat patiently, gazing at him, and he looked so much like an art teacher trying to get a shy kid through a presentation that it was too late, Prompto was cracking up. 

“So much dick!” he managed, flinging his hands out. “Like, buckets. Miles of dick!”

Ardyn 's eyes were bright. “Yes, yes.” 

“Just dicking it up all day long! You big...slutty... _guy_.” 

“Mm. Care to elaborate?” 

“No!” Prompto kept trying to catch his breath and then dissolving into laughter all over again until he collapsed on the floor. He waved his hand like a white flag. “Okay, I give up, I can't do this. You can pick something else.” 

“On the contrary, little master.” Ardyn's eyes had deep lines at the corners, and his lips were curved. “That was perfect.”

* * *

It was a magnificent torture. As the days passed, Ardyn worked alongside Insomnia's denizens, spoke of the safer regions of history to the studious young man with the Hammerhead cap, and lived in anticipation of the moments his little master said, _You can come, or._

He was permitted devotion when it was performed as an obvious lie. As Ardyn had learned over centuries, the best-kept secret walked in the open in the guise of absurdity. It was all delightfully perverse. Desire was his constant companion, as were the memories of the past that rose unbidden from the city's stones, cloaking its horizon in chimney smoke, crossing his palms with the sensation of supplicant brows. 

“You can come, or you can sit by my feet for a while. Oh, and I'll play with your hair.” 

Ardyn trusted his haste would appear sarcastic.

He sat upon the floor with his face resting on his little master's knee, watching television through half-open eyes. Something about a fellow befriended by a daggerquill, a pair of rodents, and a black couerl. The film was old by the standards of someone Prompto's age, like much of what was broadcast in these days. The industries would take some time to get on their feet, but humans were tenacious creatures, in frivolity more than anything. 

“I've never understood why so many generations believe the distant past was half-clothed,” Ardyn said drowsily. His little master's leg was a welcoming pillar on which to lean. “I've seen only a handful who would dare to go into battle unclad, and your friend is one of them.” 

“Gladio's pretty special that way.” His fingers combed through Ardyn's hair, wandering among the unruly strands in precisely the way he had always adored. “You, uh, okay down there? That can't be real comfortable.” 

“Utterly content, little master,” Ardyn murmured, and it was one step too far. 

The stiffening of Prompto's body was subtle but unmistakable, to one draped against his knee. 

Ardyn's eyes opened, and his little master's expression told him the bliss on his face had been too revealing. The tremulous smile on Prompto's lips made a sickly contrast with the shadow of fear in his eyes. 

“I mean, but not really,” Prompto said, “You're always just making the best out of a bad situation. Playing it up. Right?”

There was something of pleading in his voice. 

Ardyn said, delicately, “There is an element of misrepresentation.” 

“It's all your weird magic body having some wires crossed.” 

One side of his face was pressed against the fabric of Prompto's trousers and the strong leg beneath. He looked up at his little master, near enough to embrace. “It is purely physical.” 

“You don't really have feelings like that.” 

The tearing sensation behind his ribs was quite novel. “I don't really have feelings.” 

“You're just kinky,” Prompto said, the words of a protective charm. “It's just a game.” 

Once, Ardyn had delighted in the most vicious truths. 

“It's just a game.” 

Prompto gazed at him for a long while. 

The decision was a smile that smoothed his brow and let the light return to him.

“Okay.” 

His fingers sank into Ardyn's hair, and he returned to watching the film. It was surprisingly engaging, for all that the effects of that era would never fool anyone.


	16. Chapter 16

One day, Ardyn woke and spent a deal of the morning feeling as though that act had not been entirely successful. 

The ground was not as firm as it should have been. He was slow and aching, and not in the customary pleasant way that came from his little master's attentions. There was a layer of heat on the surface of his skin, and beneath that, a deeply sunk cold. He kept the blanket he slept beneath around his shoulders until the strange weather should pass. 

“Hey, today we're out at the...oh, shit.” 

Ardyn blinked slowly as the boy arrested him in the kitchen and looked up into his face. The lovely blue eyes transformed with the human reflex of concern. His voice was somewhat distant and murky.

“You okay?” Prompto snapped his fingers in front of Ardyn's face. “You in this century? Say something, stay with me here.” 

“I am present, little master,” Ardyn assured him. His own voice had a subterranean timbre. “All accounted for, in each piece and in each place. I am certain my hands are precisely where I left them.” 

Prompto frowned. “Okay, that was weird even for you. Hey, wait a minute.” Though nothing had been done to earn it, he placed his hand on Ardyn's forehead. “Jeez, you're burning up. That's a fever, definitely.” 

The boy had forgotten. Regret welled in Ardyn's chest. “What I am does not fall ill.” 

“Welcome to being a meatsack, buddy.” He dropped his hand from Ardyn's face and took him by the wrist, like the shepherd boy who led the anaks to the field. “Come on. Back to bed.” 

“There is so much work to be done. Oil pressed, fence mended, wheat separated from tares...” 

“You're sure not doing that today. Man, what do I do? Do your potions work on these things? Noct's never did, something about viruses-” 

“Not responsive to magic,” Ardyn mumbled, “but such a trifle shan't fell me. Burn wormwood, or bring pickled plums. A poultice of tallow would do.”

“Whatever that is, we're fresh out. Here, sit.” Prompto gave him a push, and Ardyn found himself folding onto the couch. “Go back to sleep. I'll call in.” 

The gods had made Ardyn's body of sluggish material. There was something important he had to do, but could not. “Leave me, little master. I cannot take you from your duties.” 

“Don't worry about it. Watch soap operas or something. That's part of the being human experience.” 

“Justice, isn't it. A disease laid low by a disease.”

“You're not that anymore, remember?” 

Justice. He was facing it, or would. He had been eluding that ever since the execution had failed them all. 

Prompto was gone. Ardyn lay back and watched the ceiling swim. Eventually, fragments of his little master's voice flicked toward him. 

“--can't make it today. Mhm. Yeah, he's sick. – -know, right? – weird. I – Mm. – can't let – happen to him. – thousand years old. – responsibility –. – on my watch? It'd be like killing a cactus. Yeah. – – – . Okay. Later, Igs.” 

The boy was there, on the chair with one leg drawn up like a perching forest mammal. Then he was not. He returned with a glass of water and pink pills nestled in the palm of his hand, and coaxed until Ardyn swallowed them. 

“Not pickled anything,” Prompto said, “but it's supposed to help.” 

In the tolerance extended to the invalid, Ardyn's grip around his wrist was allowed. 

“Prompto,” he said, urgently. 

“Take it easy,” Prompto said, and the touch to the back of his hand was not without sympathy. 

Chocobos appeared at the window and sang,

_A coat and a smile, a knife and a hat  
He'll always despise you, and whose fault is that?_

“I must tell you.” Ardyn's breath spilled between his lips. He was pressed downward onto his back.

“You can tell me later.”

He was being humored. The walls were not what they were. He was sweating, and so cold. A pounding had started. He was being called away but Prompto must understand. He had so little strength, now that he needed it. He held on. 

Prompto said, “You're gonna be okay.” 

“The night bell.” The words were not Ardyn's. He poured his breath into the shape of something discarded in his mind, a scrap he had once found. He clung. “Once one responds to a false alarm on the night bell, there’s no making it good again. Not ever.” 

“Just sleep,” his little master said. “I'll be right here.” 

Whatever else Ardyn could say was taken from him. He fell into darkness and the call to order.

* * *

**The Trial**

**CAST**

The JUDGE _(young, self-righteous, insufferable)_  
The BAILIFF _(large)_  
The PROSECUTOR _(woman in a white dress marked with blood)_  
The COURT REPORTER _(blind)_  
The FAITHLESS KNIGHT  
The FIGUREHEAD  
The DILETTANTE  
The DUTIFUL SIBLING  
The COLD WOMAN  
The COLLATERAL DAMAGE  
The YOUNG HISTORIAN  
The SACRIFICE  
The INNOCENT  
The ACCUSED _(chained)_

_and_

a JURY of HIS PEERS

**Act 1**

_[Curtain rises on a municipal courtroom]_

The JUDGE: Order, order.

The BAILIFF: All rise. Not you. 

The ACCUSED: You've done it out of order. 

The BAILIFF: Be seated. 

The JUDGE: Do we have music? I feel as though there should be music. 

The JURY: _[snarls, gnashes]_

The JUDGE: What are the charges? 

The BAILIFF: _[unrolls a scroll that strikes the floor.]_ Defendant stands accused of-

The JUDGE: Never mind. We haven't eternity. Who speaks for the defense? 

The ACCUSED: I shall be representing myself. 

The JUDGE: You know what they say about a fool for a client. 

The ACCUSED: As they also say, someone has been telling lies about me. 

The JUDGE: _[to the BAILIFF]_ Add a count of misattribution. Well, how do you plead? 

The ACCUSED: Beautifully, when I've sufficient inspiration. 

_[The JURY hisses.]_

The JUDGE: One should hope. And today? 

The ACCUSED: Innocent, on grounds of insanity.

The JUDGE: But you look so well. 

The ACCUSED: And so I am, but as you will well remember, at the time of my crimes I was under the sway of a supernatural force. One might say possessed. Let the disease be brought on trial, for I am but an unfortunate vessel. 

The JUDGE: Bailiff, if you would. 

_[BAILIFF leaves the courtroom. He returns wheeling a television strapped to a cart. Some fiddling while channels are adjusted and a tape is inserted. The screen flickers to surveillance footage of the ACCUSED tied to a bed.]_

RECORDING of The ACCUSED: It was me. The daemons were never in true control. I could have stopped at any time and I did not. 

_[Television switches off. BAILIFF trundles the cart away.]_

The ACCUSED: Well. In any case, innocent. 

The JUDGE: Noted.

The COURT REPORTER: _[makes note]_

The PROSECUTOR: First witness, take the stand, please. 

_[The FAITHLESS KNIGHT approaches. Chair is scooted well back to allow for the bulk.]_

The PROSECUTOR: Do you know the defendant? 

The FAITHLESS KNIGHT: Yes. He turned me against my king. 

The ACCUSED: I could hardly turn you in a direction you were already facing. 

The FAITHLESS KNIGHT: He made me a traitor. 

The ACCUSED: I made you an excellent suit of armor. You carried your own resentment, and sought me out in pursuit of goals that were your own. I only provided the tools to accomplish them.

The FAITHLESS KNIGHT: He destroyed the city.

The ACCUSED: You'll recall that was the army. 

The FAITHLESS KNIGHT: He could have stopped it. 

The ACCUSED: The wind could have stopped the airships. As for me, I could not have given the order had I wished to. It was under other command. 

The JUDGE: Convenient. Let us inquire. 

The PROSECUTOR: Next witness. 

_[The FIGUREHEAD approaches the stand. Some difficulty is taken with the wings.]_

The PROSECUTOR: Poor, pitiful creature. Were you always this way?

The FIGUREHEAD: Once I loved my people. 

The ACCUSED: _[aside to COURT REPORTER]_ He loved being fawned over and stroking his own benevolence. 

The COURT REPORTER: _[typing]_ Shh. 

The FIGUREHEAD: _[points a claw at the ACCUSED]_ He twisted my ambition into hatred and avarice, and filled my head with dreams of the Crystal. 

The ACCUSED: There was ample vacant space. I did nothing but guide you in achieving what you longed for. And isn't it wonderful to pursue one's dreams? 

The FIGUREHEAD: You warned me nothing of the cost. 

The ACCUSED: I gave centuries of tales of wicked advisers and every possible warning not to trust me. When the frog is blue-spotted, the fault for the sickness lies with the eater. 

The FIGUREHEAD: You poisoned my nation with your monstrous inventions. 

The ACCUSED: My hand never touched the assembly line. You're thinking of another. 

The PROSECUTOR: Next witness. 

_[The DILETTANTE approaches the stand, trailing foetid black ichor. BAILIFF follows with a mop.]_

The PROSECUTOR: Oh, pitiful soul. What brought you to such an end? 

The DILETTANTE: _[places a genteel hand over the bullet wound]_ The defendant. He corrupted me into the twisted creature before you. 

The ACCUSED: Now that's hardly fair. I only mentioned that immortality through transformation was theoretically possible. You were the one who insisted on trying. 

The DILETTANTE: I never would have dreamed of infecting human infants with the Scourge. 

The ACCUSED: But you would apply the principle, were someone else to do the dreaming. 

The DILETTANTE: The key to the horrors was your ideas. 

The ACCUSED: Keys do nothing on their own. I spoke in possibilities that you alone put into action. My hands are clean. 

The JUDGE: And yet your tongue is filthy. 

The DILETTANTE: The armies of the damned marched by your assistance. 

The ACCUSED: But not by my order. Ask their commander. 

The JUDGE: A splendid idea. 

The PROSECUTOR: Next witness. Oh. Please take care. 

_[The DUTIFUL SIBLING staggers to the stand. The chair creaks beneath him. The microphone is raised, and he turns the hornless side of his head toward it when he speaks.]_

The PROSECUTOR: Oh you-

The ACCUSED: Poor thing, yes. May we skip that bit? 

The JUDGE: The defendant will listen in due sympathy or be held in contempt. 

The ACCUSED: What, further?

The JUDGE: We'll do our best. 

The PROSECUTOR: Please, if you can, speak of what the defendant has done to you. 

The DUTIFUL SIBLING: He murdered me. 

The ACCUSED: You'd already been quite thoroughly murdered. If anything, I granted mercy by speeding it up a bit. 

The DUTIFUL SIBLING: He tormented me in my final moments. 

The ACCUSED: If I had not, the prince and his entourage would never have known of your change of heart. Getting those documents and the video in the right place and before the right people took a good deal of work, you know. I exonerated you. 

The DUTIFUL SIBLING: He twisted my corpse into a bloodthirsty monstrosity. 

The ACCUSED: You weren't using it anymore. Donating one's body to science is a noble practice, and besides, had I not told you there would be a price for my earlier help? In regards to the magnificent daemonic prosthetic, by the way, you're welcome. You wanted power, and I granted it. 

The DUTIFUL SIBLING: I wanted only the power to save my sister. I would have done anything to protect her.

 _[sniffling from the jury]_

The ACCUSED: The sacrificing type. Everyone hates those. 

The DUTIFUL SIBLING: For her safety I would have accepted all of this gladly, but he denied me even that.

The ACCUSED: Take it up with the gods. 

The DUTIFUL SIBLING: I shall.

The JUDGE: _[examining a list]_ Next we have..,let me see. If you'll lift your little lantern, Juror Four. Ah, there we are. You. 

_[The PROSECUTOR gently leads the DUTIFUL SIBLING away. The clack of typing ceases as the COURT REPORTER takes the stand.]_

The PROSECUTOR: Have you seen the defendant before? 

The COURT REPORTER: Four times, before the encounter where he blinded me. 

The ACCUSED: Objection! The Kings of Yore took his sight. You offered them your groveling loyalty to the throne, and darkness was the reward they granted you.

The COURT REPORTER: Not to the throne. To him.

The ACCUSED: That's worse. 

The PROSECUTOR: How did he blind you?

The COURT REPORTER: He forced me to wear the Ring of Lucis. 

The ACCUSED: I don't recall holding anyone down and coercing them into jewelry. I'm not to blame for anyone else's impulsive nature. 

The COURT REPORTER: Had I not, he would have slain my Prince. 

The ACCUSED: The one who was crucial to my plans? Absurd. Besides, had I truly desired to kill him, I could have at any moment. 

The COURT REPORTER: He gave me no choice. 

The ACCUSED: I offered you an excellent choice. If you had only taken it, everything would have been fine.

The JUDGE: Inadmissible. Non-canonical. 

The PROSECUTOR: What did you act out of? 

The COURT REPORTER: Love for my King.

 _[Juror 11 emits a gelatinous sob.]_

The ACCUSED: There is your crime. Should he have gone unpunished? 

The PROSECUTOR: Next witness. 

_[The COURT REPORTER returns to his desk. The stand sits empty.]_

_[The PROSECUTOR sets her trident on the table and takes the stand.]_

The ACCUSED: Well that's hardly fair. 

The PROSECUTOR: You murdered me. 

The ACCUSED: I did no such thing.

The PROSECUTOR: You stabbed me, and I died. 

The ACCUSED: An unrelated matter. 

The JUDGE: In my medical opinion, it's usually not. 

The ACCUSED: Gods are in the business of creating exceptions.

The PROSECUTOR: The gods were on my side.

The ACCUSED: And they set the price of the covenant. They decimated your body, and the Hydraean drowned what was left. My act was one-third of a murder at best. 

The JUDGE: How noble of you to take on the extra effort. 

The ACCUSED: The boy needed motivation, and it is the traditional method. 

The PROSECUTOR: I would have helped you. 

The ACCUSED: There was that as well. 

The PROSECUTOR: I could have cleansed the darkness from your soul. 

The ACCUSED: The patina is a part of the antique. 

The PROSECUTOR: I could have tried. 

_[Juror 7 dabs his eyes with the sleeve of his kimono.]_

The ACCUSED: _[loudly]_ You would have failed, and you would have felt so very sweetly satisfied with your own generosity toward the poor, cursed wretch. I would suffer an eternity of daemons rather than give you and your hateful gods the satisfaction. 

The PROSECUTOR: No further questions. 

_[PROSECUTOR steps down and resumes her trident.]_

_[BAILIFF takes the stand]_

The PROSECUTOR: Please, give us your testimony. 

The BAILIFF: Actually, he didn't do much to me in particular. 

_[BAILIFF leaves the stand.]_

_[A chill wind passes through the courtroom. Light and ice appear on the stand and form the shape of a woman.]_

The JUDGE: Good afternoon. Would you, ah, like a coat? 

The COLD WOMAN: No need. I am here only to speak against my killer. 

The ACCUSED: The army killed you, and it acted in self-defense when you attacked unprovoked. In any case, the court should be made duly aware that you killed me back.

The COLD WOMAN: You had infected my love with your disease. 

The ACCUSED: Your love was more a murderer than I could ever dream of. He'd attempted to destroy all of humanity, something far beyond my ambitions. He practically clawed for his share of the Scourge. 

The COLD WOMAN: He was weakened and defenseless. You struck in his sleep. 

The ACCUSED: You magnificent deities, you become powerless at such convenient moments. 

The PROSECUTOR: Next witness. 

The ACCUSED: _[unhearing]_ You, so kind and gentle Glacian, abandoned humanity to face the plague alone.

The COLD WOMAN: We could do nothing against the Scourge. 

The ACCUSED: Yet I could, and you let me do it and be damned. 

The PROSECUTOR: This blasphemy has no place in the court. 

The JUDGE: It has a place in my heart. I'll allow it. 

The ACCUSED: You slumbered through the anguish of my people. I worshiped you and trusted in your grace, yet when I saved them in your place and received my reward, you did nothing. For two thousand years you left me in the dark, alone.

The COLD WOMAN: I was at the end of my strength and could only ever offer you winter's numbness. Is there any help of mine you would have accepted?

The ACCUSED: _[silence]_

The JUDGE: Cold comfort. 

The ACCUSED: Next witness. 

The JUDGE: You don't get to say that part. 

_[The COLD WOMAN vanishes in a flash of glittering dust. The BAILIFF sweeps it away.]_

_[The COLLATERAL DAMAGE takes the stand.]_

The ACCUSED: You, I...I'm sorry, I'm not entirely certain who you are. 

The PROSECUTOR: State your name. 

The COLLATERAL DAMAGE: I represent the people killed by the daemons released in Gralea. 

The PROSECUTOR: Who unleashed these daemons on the helpless city?

The COLLATERAL DAMAGE: The defendant. 

The ACCUSED: Ah. And who praytell first leashed them? 

The COLLATERAL DAMAGE: The army, I suppose. 

The ACCUSED: Was it I who had these dangerous and uncontrollable beasts caged in the heart of a metropolis? 

The COLLATERAL DAMAGE: It was your idea. 

The ACCUSED: Ideas eviscerate no one. 

The COLLATERAL DAMAGE: You tripped a switch, and we were murdered. 

_[Juror 9 weeps into a skein of her webbing.]_

The ACCUSED: Such a thing was only possible due to the military's carelessness and the Emperor's hunger for supremacy. In a satisfying act of poetic justice, the Empire was slain by its own hubris. 

The JUDGE: And your daemons. 

The ACCUSED: As with every charge brought here before me, I did nothing but put the pieces into place. They all did their own hoisting. Is it a crime to provide petards?

The JUDGE: We're working it through the legislature. 

The COLLATERAL DAMAGE: Oh, I also represent all the people killed by daemons during the decade of darkness. 

The ACCUSED: Which is nothing to what it could have been. I made no effort to harry them. It was well within my ability to eradicate all of humanity, yet I did nothing but await my own demise.

The JUDGE: Oh! He murdered somewhat fewer people than he _could_ have. Remarkable! 

The ACCUSED: No need to raise your voice. 

The JUDGE: Bailiff?

The BAILIFF: Yeah?

The JUDGE: Give him a little gold star. 

_[An addition is made to the record.]_

The PROSECUTOR: Next witness. 

_[The YOUNG HISTORIAN takes the stand. He takes off his cap and worries it between his hands, gazing downward.]_

The PROSECUTOR: Please, tell us the defendant's crimes. 

The YOUNG HISTORIAN: I can't say much. He didn't really have anything to do with my grandpa getting killed. 

The ACCUSED: You see? Finally, someone reasonable. 

The YOUNG HISTORIAN: I was the one who talked to that Imperial. 

The ACCUSED: Well, you were a child. 

The YOUNG HISTORIAN: I know it wasn't really my fault, but it's pretty hard to make it your fault, either. It's a long road from the Imperials to the invasion to anything that you did. He was just caught in the wrong place. 

The ACCUSED: It wasn't my fault. 

The YOUNG HISTORIAN: That's all I have to say. 

_[The YOUNG HISTORIAN steps away.]_

The ACCUSED: Has there not been enough of this? Let it be finished. 

The JUDGE: There is still our star witness. 

The ACCUSED: Is there a moment for an intermission, perhaps?

The JUDGE: You've lamented so much of having an excess of time. Bring him in. 

_[The JURY's jabbering falls silent. The doors open to admit the SACRIFICE.]_

_[All rise and place fists over their hearts. The ACCUSED's chains rattle.]_

_[With the PROSECUTOR's assistance, the SACRIFICE takes the stand. He turns his body to sit, to allow for the sword that runs him through. There is sorrow in his eyes, much like at the end.]_

_[He is, of course, crowned.]_

_[Silently, all are seated.]_

The SACRIFICE: Hey. 

The ACCUSED: I didn't kill you. 

The SACRIFICE: I know.

The ACCUSED: I hardly could have, being dead by your hand at the time. 

The SACRIFICE: I remember.

The ACCUSED: Technically you could insist I am _why_ you are dead, but the trail is quite circumstantial. The stung man is why the bee perishes, yet you would not call him a murderer. It was the Kings of Yore who killed you. There lies the evidence, though you would have to dislodge it. 

The SACRIFICE: It didn't have to be so bad. 

The ACCUSED: You could make the assertion that I went out of my way to cause you suffering, yes, and I will not deny a degree of personal satisfaction, but it was all unavoidable. I needed you angry enough to want me dead, and fervent enough that you would overcome the cost. As the gods have taught me, there is nothing so effective a motivation as resentment. 

The SACRIFICE: That's not what I meant. 

The ACCUSED: As for knocking your friend off a train, why, I was hardly trying. It would all have fallen apart if you'd taken a moment to listen to him and think. With such a transparent ruse, really, falling for it was entirely on you.

The SACRIFICE: I wish you'd talked to me. 

The ACCUSED: I did not dictate your destiny, yet I assisted you every step of the way. I gave you something to struggle against and to blame, when the weight of your doom would have crushed you. I was the one who made you strong enough to face me, while ensuring you would never be made to shed human blood. In the midst of fighting a war you remained pure enough for the prim and fastidious Crystal to have no excuse to refuse you. That was entirely due to my labor.

The SACRIFICE: You did a lot. 

The ACCUSED: Go on. Despise me all you like, for the role in this foolish tragedy that was assigned to me. 

The SACRIFICE: I don't hate you for any of it. 

The ACCUSED: Oh, why would you say such a horrible thing?

The SACRIFICE: I've found my peace. What I wanted to tell you is that I hope you find yours.

The JUDGE: Thank you. 

The ACCUSED: Enough. End this. 

The JUDGE: You have one more witness to face. 

The ACCUSED: _[rounds on the JUDGE]_ And who do _you_ have to answer to? All of this was your fault! You and your arrogance, your maudlin, simpering lust to become a beloved martyr. You damned me. 

The JUDGE: And you locked me away and crippled me. 

The ACCUSED: You sanctimonious cockroach in the corners of my soul, you and your endless whispering. 

The JUDGE: Yet you never were quite able to squash me beneath your bootheel. You tormented me instead, and delighted in my pain. 

The ACCUSED: Were you ascendant you would have done the same to me. 

The JUDGE: I haven't. 

The ACCUSED: You deserved no less for playing at being a hero, serving as the pawn of the gods and cursing me for all eternity. Every evil I have wrought is your doing, sown by your single pathetic act of hubris.

The JUDGE: Had you the choice again, would you do any differently?

The ACCUSED: _[a wordless snarl]_

The JUDGE: Read that back, please.

The COURT REPORTER: _[from the transcript]_ “No.” 

The PROSECUTOR: Last witness. 

_[The doors open.]_

[The BAILIFF wheels in a dolly that carries a young man strapped to a metal cross. The wheels squeak up the aisle to beside the stand, where the SACRIFICE remains. The BAILIFF flicks the dolly's wheels into the locked position and withdraws.]

The ACCUSED: Let him down.

The JUDGE: The defendant will stay back.

The PROSECUTOR: Your witness.

The ACCUSED: Yes. Right. Of course. 

_[The ACCUSED gives his arms a firm shake. The chains clink. He breathes in, and smiles.]_

The ACCUSED: Isn't this all a bit dramatic?

The INNOCENT: _[downcast eyes. Silence.]_

The ACCUSED: Yes, I know, I gave you a self-actualizing snow adventure. How awful of me. 

The INNOCENT: _[silence.]_

The ACCUSED: I made certain you would be well equipped to face the challenge, and clearly you were capable. All I did directly was save you from freezing to death, and that situation you may lay at the feet of the Glacian. Naturally discovering your heritage was never going to be pleasant, but had you not always wondered? I helped you solve the mystery, and under what I am sure you will agree, if you think on it rationally, was the best possible circumstance. A trembling, sympathetic whimper would have only planted self-loathing deeper in your heart. I gave you someone else to loathe instead. 

The INNOCENT: _[silence.]_

The ACCUSED: I also gave you revenge against the one behind so much of your suffering. You had the privilege of killing him yourself, then killing him once again in the guise of his absurd machine. You removed a serious threat to humanity. You should be proud. 

The INNOCENT: _[silence.]_

The ACCUSED: Getting knocked off the train wasn't my fault, either. I just explained that. If anything, the experience should make you understand how difficult it is to be in my shoes. No one ever listens. 

The INNOCENT: _[silence.]_

The ACCUSED: Besides, it motivated your prince and let him prove the depth of his love for you. If you were ever unsure of his devotion, that should have shown it beyond a doubt. You got to play the damsel in distress, and it worked magnificently. Surely in time you will appreciate that it was all very clever. In any case it was inarguably a much less harmful way of achieving the goal than it could have been, and all strictly necessary. Really, I frightened you more than I hurt you. 

The JUDGE: Read that back.

The COURT REPORTER: “I hurt you.” 

The ACCUSED: Be reasonableand look at it from my perspective. It was important that you all hate me enough to ensure my death, and I could hardly do that by being a gentle saint. We were all working toward the same end, and I did more work than anyone. Every turning point of history involves unfortunate individuals, many or few, becoming caught in the crossfire. Yours was the role of the Beloved Friend, and the sort of harm that builds character must always befall those, inevitably by the hand of the one playing the villain. I did what I must. Shall I now stand before you and say that I'm sorry?

The JUDGE: Read that back.

The COURT REPORTER: “I'm sorry.” 

The ACCUSED: Won't you say something? 

The INNOCENT: _[silence.]_

The ACCUSED: Please. 

The INNOCENT: _[silence.]_

The ACCUSED: It's all in the past, now. So much has changed. Death is a dramatic line of division, and we are both different people from the young callow things we were. Would you never accept that given time and all that can change in its course, it might come to be that I care for you?

The INNOCENT: _[silence.]_

The ACCUSED: Read that back.

The COURT REPORTER: I can't. I'm blind. 

_[The INNOCENT lifts his head.]_

The INNOCENT: You know what you did. 

The ACCUSED: It's no unique sin of mine. It is my one claim to common humanity: he who suffers causes others to suffer as well. Anyone would do the same, had he his enemy and power. 

The INNOCENT: I haven't.

The ACCUSED: _[silence.]_

The PROSECUTOR: The prosecution rests. 

The JUDGE: I've heard enough.

The ACCUSED: Will no one let him down? 

_[Gently, the SACRIFICE reaches up and lets the INNOCENT free. The INNOCENT steps down from the cross. The SACRIFICE rests a hand on his shoulder and stands behind him, where he has always been.]_

The JUDGE: It's time to render a verdict. 

_[The JURY howls for blood.]_

The JUDGE: No lengthy deliberations, then. 

_[Juror 10 writes the word in ghostlight. Juror 3 explodes and leaves it in piles of ash. Juror 8 hacks it into the wall with an enormous sword. It is carved by claws, rent into tattered cloth, etched with a knife on lanternglass. Guilty, guilty, guilty.]_

The JUDGE: Unanimity is such a rare thing. 

_[He strikes the gavel once.]_

The JUDGE: You are hereby sentenced to one more lifetime. For your tyranny, you forfeit control. For your cruelty, you forfeit kindness. For your lies, you forfeit truth. You will face consequences. Here is the first. 

_[The lights go down. Spotlights on the JUDGE's seat and the witness stand.]_

The INNOCENT: _[to the JUDGE]_ I would have liked you. 

_[A fanfare plays. The lights return.]_

_[The ACCUSED stands with his head low, the chains weighing on him.]_

The JUDGE: Who will be the prisoner's keeper?

The BAILIFF: I would prefer not to. 

The PROSECUTOR: I'm dead. 

The COURT REPORTER: I'm busy.

The SACRIFICE: I'm dead too. 

The INNOCENT: I will. 

_[The INNOCENT approaches the ACCUSED. His hand lifts and the fetters melt into a single thread of chain around the ACCUSED's neck.]_

The ACCUSED: Not you. Your payment should not be pain.

The INNOCENT: _[takes the chain]_ Should isn't is. 

The JUDGE: _[steps down from his seat]_ You were not wrong. I deserve my share of the blame, so I too will take the punishment. 

_[The chain branches. He takes the new end and affixes it around his neck.]_

The JUDGE: You have never been alone. 

The ACCUSED: No. No. You cannot have this. This is mine. 

The INNOCENT: _[looks at the ACCUSED. He does not hear the JUDGE.]_ Come on. Let's go home. 

_[He begins to walk offstage. The chain winds about his wrist and shines behind him. The two leashed men follow, the JUDGE placidly.]_

The ACCUSED: _[stumbles]_ Wait—

_[Curtain.]_

* * *

It took a while to occur to Prompto that he could have been getting some satisfaction out of this. He'd thought about it some, back in the day. Watching Ardyn hurting. Sure, he'd gotten a kick out of the fun kind and felt kind of guilty about it, since maybe that made him pretty deeply messed up. 

He must not have been that cruel, because this wasn't any fun at all. 

It was weird. When you watched a guy sweating and shivering in his sleep, it didn't seem to make any difference that he deserved it. Your body felt sympathy, even when your head knew that was a mistake. Maybe it was some kind of instinctive thing, a lowdown animal empathy. Maybe it was just that the evillest thing he'd done lately was use up all the hot water in the shower. 

Prompto woke him up to give him some more meds. Ardyn swallowed them down, gave him a glassy-eyed look, and said, “Ah, intermission.” 

“Sure, buddy,” Prompto said. 

Ardyn fell back on the couch and passed out again. 

He didn't look like an angel or anything when he was sleeping. Not like a daemon, either, though it was already hard to remember what those were like up close. More just like a guy who was down on his luck. Prompto stuck around and did some work, made some phone calls. People like Ignis and the tipsters did all the real organizing, but Prompto knew everybody and had a feel for who was in town, so he could come in handy when somebody needed an electrician or a truck driver or somebody to chase the cockatrices out of a silo somewhere. 

When he finished that up he heard Ardyn groaning, so he went over. He wasn't awake, though. Just twitching in his sleep, with his lips moving. After all that time being a nightmare, now he got to have some, like anybody else. 

“Hey,” Prompto said softly, giving him an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Take it easy.” 

He quieted down, and Prompto went to the kitchen. He ate a leftover daggerquill wrap out of the fridge and heated up some soup. He took the bowl over to Ardyn, who was awake and watching him. He set it down on the coffee table. Ardyn looked at it like he'd never heard of soup. 

“It's okay, the can wasn't from ten years ago. I'm really good at telling when things have botulism, anyway.” 

For a while he'd thought it was magic how Ignis could hold a can in his hands and say _yes_ or _no_ , but he'd picked up the knack. Canning was something they'd gotten up and running pretty early on, since like Gladio said, _A species marches on its stomach_. So Prompto couldn't sit and mope in the dark, because somebody had to go out and scavenge scrap metal. No need to do that anymore, but he'd still probably recycle religiously until the day he died. 

Ardyn's hair was stuck to his face in sweaty strings. He said, “I hurt you.” 

Well, at least he was making sense. Prompto smiled faintly. “That's kind of old news.” 

Ardyn 's eyes were fixed steadily on Prompto and distant at the same time. The usual scruff looked dark, when he was this pale. “I'm sorry.” 

Prompto felt a tangle of things he couldn't name, and was glad he didn't need to. Ardyn wouldn't remember any of this anyway. “I know.” 

Ardyn looked at him. He looked like he was about to say something, then didn't. 

Prompto said, “Eat your soup.” 

He did. Then he went back to sleep, quieter this time. Prompto sat by him, and thought about guilt.


	17. Chapter 17

Ardyn bounced back pretty quick. After a couple days he was well enough to stay home by himself, and pretty soon after that he was back to work. The only sign of how much it must have taken out of him was how quiet he was. Kind of subdued, weird as that was for him. He kept ending up in the same room as Prompto, just minding his own business and being there. They said that was a thing cats did, when they wanted company. 

You probably shouldn't scratch a two thousand year old former monster guy under the chin.

But it wasn't long before Ardyn was back to his base level of flirting and joking around about wanting to get hit. He didn't push too much, though, since he knew he got what Prompto decided to give him.

Okay, why was _that_ kind of hot?

At first, Prompto didn't realize he was doing it. He'd always been a pretty handsy guy, and it took a while to notice that Ardyn had stopped being an exception. It was casual stuff; tapping him on the arm to get his attention in a loud worksite, moving his hand around manually, patting the small of his back to let him know Prompto was passing behind him in the kitchen. It didn't click until the time when they were out repaving sidewalks, when he took Ardyn by the wrist to pull him aside and caught him biting his lip. 

Whatever Prompto'd been going to say turned into, “Huh. Just that does it for you?”

Ardyn glanced around to make sure nobody was in range and said, “It does.” 

Prompto rubbed the underside of Ardyn's wrist, thinking. “That magic zombie thing must be pretty intense.” 

“That is one factor. Another is that your actions are quite...” He breathed in through his nose. “...proprietary.” 

Prompto eyed him and said, “Huh.” 

Prompto had never really been the hot one in a relationship. Not that whatever was going on with Ardyn was a relationship, except the kind you'd have to describe by writing IT'S COMPLICATED in fire on a hillside somewhere. Prompto had always been the chaser, not the chasee. The one asking for attention, not the one whose attention was something to go crazy wanting. He liked that role. But it was kind of fun to be on the other side for once. It was just a game, anyway.

At home that night, he watched how Ardyn's eyes lit up when he said, “C'mere.” 

Prompto took him into his room. He got the ropes out of the drawer and put them into Ardyn's hands. Then he laid down on the bed and put his arms up. 

“Tie me up,” he said, his heart going fast already, “and I'll tell you the rules.” 

Ardyn stepped back quick enough that his hip knocked into the dresser. “Little master.” 

“Hey, no, don't worry. It's not like that.” Jeez, when the guy looked like his heart was sinking that fast, you'd almost think he had one. “I'm gonna torture you, like always. It's just a new game, and part of it is you can quit whenever you want.” 

They'd never really talked about that time when Prompto had made Ardyn touch him, that bad night when he'd wanted to do the worst thing he could to himself. It'd been horrible because it felt good, and felt good that it was horrible. It'd been the only time Ardyn had ever told him no. 

He'd never asked why. There was probably stuff you were better off not knowing. 

Ardyn looked curious and cautious. He came a little closer, running his thumb along the grain of the rope. “Is that so.” 

“Yeah.” No way of telling if he could do this until he tried. Prompto couldn't tell if his body was scared or excited. He smiled. “We're gonna play chicken.”

* * *

The ropes felt strange around Prompto's wrists. He tested by pulling a bit, first one hand then the other. There was a little give. Having his hands up like that stirred up old memories like silt at the bottom of a lake, but suddenly it was a weird relief that what he'd been scared of so long wasn't actually that bad. He took a couple deep breaths and met Ardyn's eyes. 

“Okay. Here's how this works.” Telling Ardyn what to do was normal now, and made him feel steady. “You do exactly what I tell you to. If you want to do less, or stop, you can. If you try to do more, I'll use the thing on my hand to stop you. But if I have to do that, I'll be disappointed. Got it?” 

“Crystal clear, little master.” He was seeing his own nerves and anticipation on Ardyn's face. 

“Okay.” Ardyn must always feel this exposed, when he was tied up like this. If Prompto nudged his brain to the side a little, he could almost see how he enjoyed it. “Get on top of me, but don't touch.” 

The mattress sank as Ardyn climbed up. He framed Prompto, knees to either side of his hips, hands by his chest. He just stayed there surrounding him, like he was told, his weight up there like an unsupported roof. His presence pressed down and the air smelled like him. 

“Okay,” Prompto whispered to himself. He swallowed. “Okay.” 

He could take as long as he needed. Ardyn was the one person in the world whose feelings and opinions he didn't have to care about. He could make him wait. 

When he was ready he said, “Open up my shirt.” 

Ardyn undid the buttons, not letting his knuckles brush against him any more than he needed to. He was being careful not to push his luck, Prompto realized, and that was a weird kind of hot in itself. Instinctively Prompto tried to cover himself, but the ropes didn't let him. Ardyn paused a second, then pulled his shirt untucked and let it fall open. 

His eyes stayed there, and he did a little murmur like he couldn't help it. “Beautiful.” 

Pushing his own luck, Prompto said, “Kiss my chest.” 

Ardyn lowered himself down and brushed his lips against his skin, just enough to feel warmth and the tickle of his stubble. Prompto listened for panic in his own breathing, like running his eyes over the dashboard of himself to scan for the Check Engine light. 

“So far, so good,” he muttered. “Okay. Kiss my arms.” 

First the left, then the right, on the inside of the elbow. The feeling lingered, cool when the air touched it.

“Good boy.” Prompto wasn't sure whether he was talking to Ardyn or trying to reassure himself. “Now my stomach.”

Ardyn moved down, and did exactly what he was told. 

Look at him. Just a decent-looking older guy. Don't see what he did or who he is. Just think of him as a person, like you couldn't help doing when he was sick. 

It wasn't as hard as it should have been.

“Okay.” Prompto breathed in deep and got his heart under control. “Take off my pants.” 

The way Ardyn looked at him first was scarier than him doing it. He opened Prompto's pants up as carefully as taking apart a pocketwatch. He pulled them down, and Prompto lifted his legs to help get them off. Then, there he was. Nothing special. Just legs. 

Prompto worked a dry throat and said, “Kiss me. On the inside of my leg.” 

Ardyn moved toward his knee, and Prompto shook his head. “No. Higher.” 

He couldn't keep himself from closing his eyes tightly while Ardyn's mouth pressed against the inside of his thigh. He was about to make a noise, but he caught himself just in time. 

Ardyn was only quiet when it was on purpose. He was braced on his hands, looking down at Prompto. It was weird to see him with the ceiling behind him instead of the pillow. Prompto's heart was smacking itself against his ribs, but he was in control. 

Putting just enough command in it to keep him from lying, Prompto said, “Tell me what you want to do to me right now.”

Ardyn watched him with eyes like headlights coming down a dark road. 

He said, “Worship you.”

Just because Ardyn had a magic thing on him that forced him not to lie didn't mean he was telling the truth. _Worship_ could mean a lot of things from a guy who hated the gods. Prompto could stop him whenever he needed to, or make him do whatever he wanted. 

Something that wasn't painful or humiliating. Just stupid and pointless. 

“You can,” Prompto said. “With one finger.” 

He thought maybe this time Ardyn would be caught exasperated, but all he did was take his index finger and run it down the center of Prompto's chest. 

It wasn't bad. 

It was just getting touched by somebody. Just with a fingertip. Kinda rough from all the work. Angling off to run down one side of Prompto's ribs, then the other. Moving slow, like this was something worth doing. Ardyn kept his eyes on what he was doing, like he was doing a sketch as he ran his finger in a circle around Prompto's stomach. 

“Stop,” Prompto said, because he knew he wouldn't.

Ardyn put his hands on the bed to either side of him and waited. 

Prompto took a minute to breathe, and to try to deal with the fact that it wasn't bad. 

He said, “Okay. Keep going.”

He stopped himself from saying, _Be careful,_ since what was there to be careful about, just touching a guy with one fingertip, running it along his hipbone over and over like coaxing a tone out of the rim of a wineglass. 

Ardyn was, anyway. Careful.

 _Just pretend it's somebody else. His good twin brother you've never met, who can like you._

Ardyn dragged his finger down Prompto's left leg, leaving a warm, narrow trail down his skin. Tied to the headboard, Prompto's hands opened and closed. Ardyn ran his finger along Prompto's foot, then he moved over to the right and stroked the sole. When Prompto kicked he froze. 

“Too much?” If you imagined that face belonged to somebody else, you could call the look on it concern.

“Nah. Just.” Prompto's eyes went sheepishly to the picture of the Disc of Cauthess on the wall. “Kinda ticklish. You don't have to stop.” 

Give Ardyn credit for one thing; he didn't try tickling him more. That was some pretty superhuman self control. He just stroked up Prompto's leg around the curve of his calf muscle, the inside of his knee, and up his thigh, like he really was worshiping something. It felt kind of nice, being the center of somebody's attention.

He'd made it up to the edge of Prompto's underwear and was lifting his hand over when Prompto got his voice to go above the pounding of his heart and said, “No. I mean, yes. You can touch there.”

Ardyn looked up at him, gold eyes asking. Prompto glanced down at himself, and nodded. It wasn't like it would make a big difference to let Ardyn feel instead of just see that he was hard. 

The sensation was blunted through his underwear. Prompto's toes curled anyway. 

It was just a guy. It was just one finger. It was kind of embarrassing that getting pet that tiny bit could rile him up, and that the way Ardyn's finger went from root to tip could make his body hum, but it was okay that it felt good. 

He was, Prompto realized with some surprise, okay. 

“You can touch with more,” Prompto said, like that made any sense, but it worked. Well, sort of. Ardyn started stroking him with _two_ fingers. Prompto did a weird little snort-laugh. “I mean, use your whole hand. Just hold it there.” 

Ardyn's hand was big, resting there cupping him. The contact felt like a lot after all the teasing. Every time Prompto breathed he could feel it more, the warmth of his hand lingering there and making a low pulse work through him with his heartbeat, letting him float there a while. 

The long breath Prompto took in through his nose and released let out knots he hadn't known were in his muscles. 

“All right,” he said. “That's all. Untie me.” 

He thought Ardyn might complain that he hadn't gotten anything, but he just let go and did it. When the knots were loose, Prompto let his arms down and shook his shoulders out. The feeling of the ropes stuck to his wrists, like the trail of Ardyn's finger on his skin. He must have sat up too fast, since his head was light and giddy. 

Just to be annoying, he sat by Ardyn on the edge of the bed, patted him on the shoulder and said, “We're done.” 

Ardyn, who was looking pretty together for how ridiculously unsatisfying that must have been, let his eyelids fall down halfway and said, “Mm. How do you feel, little master?” 

To be double annoying, Prompto scratched lightly at the back of Ardyn's neck, just above the collar, and made him shiver. 

“Good.”

* * *

On the third straight day of cold rain, when Ardyn was holding an umbrella over him like he insisted on doing, Prompto remembered that seasons were a thing. During the night they hadn't been. Everything had stayed about the same the whole time, weather-wise, like the world had stopped a while before dawn and stayed there for ten years, waiting. 

One morning he found Ardyn standing on the front walk with his eyes closed and his head tipped back, bathrobe plastered to him, letting himself get soaked like the sidewalk and the grass. 

Prompto said, “If you get pneumonia and die, you're gonna feel really dumb.” 

“Just a moment longer, little master,” he said. It almost got lost in the patter of the rain. 

Prompto stayed back under the eaves and let him. Just for a minute. His hair looked long when it was wet, and he looked young. 

Every day it felt good to get something done and bring Noct's city a little more back to life. That was the one little thing Prompto could do for him. Insomnia would be the real tribute to him, not the tarp-covered beginning of a statue that they passed on the way to the site. Prompto caught Ardyn not looking at it, and Ardyn must have seen him not looking, too. 

Maybe the real difference between Ardyn now and Ardyn back then was that this one could be quiet sometimes. 

At home that night, before he could think better of it, Prompto said, “Hey.” 

“Hm?” Ardyn looked up from one of those super dense books that he liked, the ones that were really funny if you knew what manners were supposed to be like three hundred years ago apparently, and he was so much just a person that Prompto nearly lost his nerve. 

“I was thinking.” He scratched the back of his head. “Y'know. Since it's cold. If you'd want to. Uh.” 

The lines at the corners of Ardyn's eyes deepened. “If it is flustering you so, then the answer is certainly yes.” 

“Jerk.” Prompto took a breath and spat it out. “Would you want to sleep in my bed?” 

It was a bit of a kick to make him look stunned.

“Just sleep,” Prompto added hastily. His eyes dropped. “And I'd have to tie your hands.” 

When he looked up Ardyn was still watching him, closely and carefully like he was something special happening. 

Ardyn said, “I would like that.” 

That night he brushed his teeth, stripped down to his underwear, and gave Ardyn permission to come into his room. Ardyn put out his hands with his wrists together, and Prompto tied the rope with a secure knot. Ardyn didn't complain, which was predictable, and didn't make any dirty suggestions, which wasn't. 

When Prompto laid down he wasn't sure he could handle it, but it turned out it was easy. 

“Good night, little master.” 

With the lights off, he was just heaviness and soft breathing on the other side of the bed. The weird joke of the name he called Prompto was old now, worn in like a catcher's mitt, but it sounded different up close. 

Prompto thought sometimes about Ardyn going back to how he used to be before he'd died, about waking up one day and dealing with a bunch of monsters in his house. He hadn't thought before about how getting the old Ardyn back would mean losing this one. 

Prompto got to sleep pretty easily. Now and then he'd half wake up and touch the collar to make sure it was still there.

* * *

Ardyn woke with his hands tied in an uncomfortable position and someone's breath stirring against his pectoral. He began to shift, and froze when he realized Prompto's head was resting on his shoulder, his face slackened in the guileless concentration of sleep. 

In his old life, stillness had been no difficulty. Existing had exerted no physical demands, and when there were no pressing matters, he could easily stand in place and watch the sun and moon arc overhead as long as he wished. A body made of flesh was not so simple. 

Ardyn held himself as still as he could, and his little master slept. 

It was not the last time, as the season turned and the nights grew colder. It was always with his hands bound, and he always woke with Prompto nestled against his side. Ardyn indulged himself in imagining his little master might roll him over and use him to sate a young man's amorous energies, but he only used him as he would a hot brick placed between the sheets. On days he was feeling playful, he would yawn and stretch as the sun through the blinds striped his lean body, and let Ardyn ache a while before pretending to notice him and saying, “Oh, did you wanna get untied?”

It was a torment sweet as when he had been permitted to touch him, when the sharpness of desire's pangs shifted into something meditative and he would have been content to remain there for hours, stroking Prompto's ribs with a fingertip and listening to his measured breath. 

Humanity was returning to Insomnia, automobile tires once again crunching where once bird-drawn carts had clattered, and more recently great paws had trod and spider-limbs had clacked, during the ten years of his meaningless rule. Ardyn had been the present king of an absent people, while Noct was now the reverse. A lovely bit of irony. 

Work drew closer to home. The crew came to their very doorstep, and they cleared the other apartments of debris, scrubbed away mold, and patched holes in the walls. Prompto whooped in triumph when he got the central heating up and running, and Ardyn hoped privately it would not mean that he would be altogether abandoning other methods of staving off the cold. 

Tempers, however, grew shorter with the days, as it was no longer such an ingrained surety that they would ever lengthen again. Unease became anger in many humans, such as the one who, in a corridor that smelled of fresh paint, responded to Ardyn being in his way with a snarled, “Fucking Nif.” 

“Pardon?” Ardyn said before recalling that he had, for a scant sliver of time, been one of those.

“You heard me.” The man stepped forward. He was thin-lipped and turning to gray, with scars marking his arms. The gift of fangs, perhaps. Had he his own sharpened canines he would have been displaying them. “I know who you are. One of their high-ups. How much of this was your fault?” 

“You would be surprised." Ardyn found his back against the wall. 

The man's taut shoulders were strangely interesting. He might strike him, and it might matter. How unique. It was amusing, in a distant way, that he had the correct anger for a mistaken reason. 

“Hey,” said Prompto's voice. 

Ardyn's eyes snapped down the hall to where Prompto was moving toward them with rapid purpose. The man turned toward him, his stance still tense but subtly adjusting towards one who was owed respect. 

“What's this Nif bastard doing here?” he said, shifting the grievance. “Nobody needs his help.” 

“Take it easy, Felix.” Prompto's hand settled on the man's shoulder, his voice rich with sympathy. “There aren't Nifs anymore, remember? Everybody's just people.” 

He was not angry, clearly. Only disappointed.

The antagonist's eyes fell, and he was silent.

“I know it's rough,” Prompto said, “but all that old stuff doesn't matter now. Come help me out, okay? I've got a broken dresser to get downstairs, and it's gonna squash me if I try to handle it alone.” 

He led the man off, and Ardyn was left to his work. 

It was some time later before his little master returned alone. Ardyn looked up from the tangle of wiring in the wall and said, “My knight in shining armor.” 

“Pft, yeah, that's me.” Prompto took a place beside him and approached the wires with the confidence of long practice. “There's a lot of people from Niflheim around, and that stuff spreads easy. Gotta stop it quick.” 

He guarded Ardyn's secret for practical reasons, as the usefulness of having someone to unite in hatred of would be outweighed by the distraction. To be despised by the masses would be satisfyingly maudlin but get little done. Perhaps it was also a matter of Prompto keeping things to himself, his hatred as private as his sorrow. 

“You've become quite the statesman,” Ardyn said. 

His little master's shy smile was a thing that burst across the senses like cinnamon, or a sugar glaze that melted on the tongue and filled one's mouth with sweetness. 

Prompto said, “Nah. Just looking out for people.”

* * *

“Dude, check this out!” 

Ardyn followed his little master's voice around a corner of the flea market stall to where Prompto was holding aloft the sleeve of an outlandish coat. 

“Look at this thing! Are there even animals that color? It's like something out of a music video."

“Hideous,” Ardyn said. 

Prompto tested the fur between his fingers. “You want it, huh.” 

Ardyn gazed at the garment. Now and then when he was good, his little master would buy things for him, under the unspoken axiom that a frivolous enough indulgence was not the same as a gift. When you looked very closely, there were stripes. 

“From the bottom of my heart.” 

Ardyn was very good that day. 

He wore it with delight, touched with only a shadow of regret that his little master would not demand (or allow) any elaborate obeisances to thank him. This vanished when he spotted Prompto contemplating the roughness of the unlined inside, and suspected he remembered a lesson about the existence of hair shirts. 

“More?” he said, when Prompto ordered him to strip and lift his hands for the ropes. “Little master, you shall spoil me.” 

“It's your lucky day,” Prompto said, and raked his nails down Ardyn's chest. 

He painted burning lines all over him, turning him midway in order to mark his back and rear as well, until Ardyn was panting with the sweetness of it and his little master whispered in his ear, _You can come, or._

* * *

Prompto had emails to answer and mustn't be disturbed. Thus Ardyn lay very quietly across his knees, and did not let the weight of the laptop pressing the rough fabric into his bare, welted back make him stir. The coat was heavy for a warm room, and the prickle of sweat was an intoxicating extra layer of torment. 

“Wow, this is really nice and soft.” One hand kept at work while the other toyed with the texture of the coat. Suddenly, he ground the heel of his hand into Ardyn's shoulder. “Feel that?” 

“Yes, little master,” Ardyn said, when he had bitten down his moan. 

Prompto rested his elbows on Ardyn's back, digging the texture into his skin. A bit of pointed leaning pushed him downwards and let the weave make itself known against the entire front of him, stinging his nipples and pressing along the length of his cock. 

“Hey. Is 'caffeine' with 'e-i' or 'i-e?'”

Even infinitesimal squirming made it so very much worse. 

“'E-i,' little master.” Ardyn fought to keep his voice even and helpful. 

“Huh. I guess that looks right.” He resumed typing with one hand while the other stroked the small of Ardyn's back. His restless hand never ceased its motion, and bestowed his captive with continual small, delicious torments as the luxury of his touch mixed with the scratch and sting of the coat's lining on unprotected flesh. “That's not how the rule goes, though.” 

“All axioms are lies,” Ardyn said.


	18. Chapter 18

Time moved on, marked by bruises given and faded and given afresh, in stories spun to Talcott and his recorder, in the special indulgence of nights in his little master's bed, and in the first dusting of snow.

“This,” said Ardyn, placing his bare hand on the snow that topped a shrub until the fresh bite of cold became a burn, “was once called the Glacian's waking kiss. An auspicious day for weddings and alliances, all manner of new beginnings.” 

“More like an auspicious day to get you some gloves,” said Prompto. 

They were green and clashed terribly with what Prompto had dubbed his _yeti pimp coat._ Ardyn adored them. 

He was left alone at worksites more often, Prompto giving a distracted, “Be good” before going to meet with the last king's other companions in preparation for the solstice. In public his exuberance would shine more brightly than ever until fading to melancholy when they returned to privacy, and Ardyn would crave the lash. At home the torments he administered were dutiful and cursory, maintaining Ardyn as he maintained his gun. 

There were nights when Ardyn slept on his accustomed place on the couch, aware through closed eyes of the light under the kitchen door as his little master sat up looking at old photographs. There were days when he suspected Prompto forgot he was there. 

As they walked home, Ardyn told him of old times. That is to say, he spoke, and his little master did not stop him. He talked of when this place had been a bare settlement, when the herds had grazed where now stood skyscrapers and parking structures, before there was a Citadel and before the city had a name. For two thousand years he had remembered climbing onto the low roof of the smokehouse to watch the stars come out. For the first time he spoke of it, and stumbled in midsentence.

“What's up?” Prompto asked, revealing that he had been listening. 

“I had forgotten,” Ardyn said, with the unsettling amazement of finding a new sentence in a well-worn book, “I did this with my brother.” 

The curiosity in his little master's face revealed that dropping the subject was a deliberate act of mercy. 

The shortened days passed all the more quickly for Ardyn's wish to hold to them. Where once he had welcomed the gathering darkness and its promise of an end, now he could not be eager for what was heralded by the natural sway of seasons.

On the morning of the solstice, Ardyn's little master emerged dressed in the black of his Kingsglaive uniform. Today more than ever it was the black of mourning. The day was set aside for that; for gratitude, remembrance, and to demonstrate the faith that the sun would continue to rise. Ardyn attempted to summon a glib offer to shine his boots, and could not. 

“I'll be back tonight,” Prompto said. Then, looking away, as though it were to be ashamed of: “I'll probably want to hurt you.”

“I shall look forward to it, said Ardyn, remembering his role. 

Prompto, walking away, did not hear him. The door opened and shut. 

Ardyn had not been ordered to stay away from the ceremony. His little master really was absentminded lately. 

The sun was well up when he left home. The streets became more populated the closer he drew to the center of the city, where waited the Citadel and the great bulk that loomed over the plaza. The image would be wrong, of course, not scraped and bloodied, not favoring the side where Ardyn's boot had given him a cracked rib as a parting gift to carry from this world. Only the mien of nobility would be correct. Of all living people, Ardyn was the only one who knew what their king had looked like at the end. 

A few blocks away he turned and entered what had once been an office building. He'd taken note of it when they were doing repairs in the area. This one had been deemed in good enough condition to bothering fixing up, including restoring the elevator to working order. The first floor was a wide, empty space that had the odd melancholy of a human construction with all the necessary impedimenta removed, hollow as a batless cave. 

Ardyn's steps echoed on the tile floor past bins full of broken computer monitors, bent file cabinets, and obsolete paperwork that he had helped to carry there. Chairs in decent enough condition to be worth salvage were lined up against the wall, and various debris of humanity filled another crate. The rolling chair his little master had spun in was among the former, and the meteor-shaped stress ball Ardyn had obeyed irresistible instinct to squeeze a few times numbered among the latter. 

The elevator made a civilized _bing_. 

It was not until he disembarked on the top floor that it occurred to Ardyn he could have become ignominiously stuck. Perhaps it would have served him right. The stairwell was filthy and strewn with broken concrete. He took the last flight up and shoved open the door. 

Cold wind struck him along with the sunlight, and he pulled his coat tighter about himself. He had been able to feel cold, back in his long unlife, but it hadn't mattered then. Now to a vulnerable mortal body there could be meaning to bitter cold that made him shake, and to the relief of warmth in a thick garment or a man rolling closer in his sleep. 

At the edge the wind was stronger and the view was excellent. A crowd thronged the square as if for a festival, though their movements were somber. So many, filling the plaza with distant, moving colors that were bright against the dusting of snow. The centerpiece was the great marble figure, a cape wrought in stone, a sword lifted, a face Ardyn could not see. He was, of course, turned toward the dawn. 

Ardyn stepped toward the precipice to better hear the voices on the wind. Distance made them a murmur, a faint chorus that carried to him up a sheer cliff of glass and steel. He and the last king had battled across this sky, when his power had insulated him from the nip of chill on his cheeks or the quickening of heart that came with being poised above a precipitous drop. He leaned forward to gaze down at the face of the building, and smiled when he saw the bent frame and shattered windows at the place where his body had struck. 

A large hand on his shoulder hauled him back from the ledge. Gladiolus's voice growled, “Oh no you don't.” 

The brawny arm cast Ardyn to the ground, and Gladiolus planted a boot on his chest. There was not enough weight applied to be painful, only to fasten him there like a dried flower pinned in a keepsake album. It was no longer feasible for the man to carry his customary enormous sword. It would have to be done with whatever smaller weapon he no doubt had concealed. Ardyn felt a twinge of regret. It would have been so much more thematically satisfying to die at his little master's hands. 

“What a charming way to say hello,” said Ardyn. The cold sky framing Gladiolus was very blue. “However, I've no idea what you were attempting to prevent.” 

“Can it.” The wind flapped the black hem of the Kingsglaive coat. In full regalia, today. “You were gonna jump.” 

“What?” Ardyn's eyebrows leapt, and, thoughtlessly, he attempted to sit up. The boot grew heavier in rebuke. “Whyever would I do that?” 

The Shield appeared to find the question rhetorical. “I'd been wondering why you hadn't tried anything yet. This whole time, you were waiting for Noct's memorial.” 

It clicked into place, and Ardyn's mobile brows met in consternation. “Do you truly believe I would cast myself to my gruesome death merely to steal the spotlight?” 

Gladiolus looked at him.

“All right,” Ardyn admitted. “It's a fair assumption.”

“I'm not letting it happen.” 

“I assure you the call of the void is falling on deaf ears.”

The Shield's eyes narrowed. “Yeah? Then what are you up here for?” 

“Bittersweet contemplation of the passage of time. May I sit up?” Though under different circumstances Ardyn would be enjoying the position – well, yes, he was enjoying it a little, he wasn't made of stone – it made conversation rather difficult. 

The Shield eyed him, and after a moment, lifted his foot. “Better not try anything. If I have to tackle you, you're gonna end up with a broken hip.” 

Ardyn sat up and straightened the lay of his coat. Dust and fragments of pebbles adhered to the artificial fur. “I suppose you aren't here to kill me, then.”

“Nah. That's up to Prompto, and he hasn't gone for it.” Gladiolus stood with his arms crossed, looking as though he truly did expect Ardyn to sprint for the edge. Ardyn didn't know where he would have found the energy. The flesh was no longer young, now that it was truly flesh. “But I'm not gonna let you pull anything, either.” 

Ardyn held up empty hands that could no longer pull ancient weapons or daemonic magic from midair. “I have no intention of any tricks. But really, I am impressed you found me.” 

Gladiolus remained in his natural state of looming. “It's not real tough when there's only a couple buildings in sight of the square with a roof you can still get up to. One of my guys said there was somebody suspicious skulking around.” 

“Contemplating,” Ardyn corrected. A thought occurred to him. “How many members of our work crew happen to be your eyes?” 

“A few.” The Shield relented enough to sit, though he remained in grabbing range. “You really not planning anything?” 

The wind made a lock of Ardyn's hair brush his cheek. “I confess it had not occurred to me. Dramatic gestures are for the climax, and it's rather late for that.” 

Gladiolus said, “The story's over.” 

The large man was more thoughtful than many would give him credit for. He had always been aware of his role and required little personalized goading. Ardyn had once considered that convenient.

“Yes.” More than any sense of restored humanity, more than the loss of the steel core of hatred that had carried him through the long darkness, that was the reason he felt no urge to make any schemes of malice. It would be as wasteful as starting a new chapter on a book's last page. The hum of the distant crowd carried to them now and then, like the sound of bees in summer. Ardyn tilted his face toward the sunlight and let the warmth paint his skin. “All of this is only epilogue.” 

“Mm." The Shield's eyes were on the distance. His thoughts were, like Prompto's, elsewhere. “Go home quiet. Prompto's got enough to deal with today. I won't bring it up with him, but I'm not gonna cover for you if he asks, either.” 

“I doubt the topic will arise.” Ardyn's voice gained a bit of the old performer's glint. “It seems a waste, doesn't it? Days like these are made for a conquered enemy to be paraded in the streets. A bit of flinging rotten fruit, at the least.” 

“Nah.” There would be statues of Gladiolus as well, one day. Someone would cut those crossed scars into stone. “It was never about you.” 

“Ah.” Ardyn smiled into the bitter cut of the wind. “Now that is cruelty.” 

“Quit your bitching.” Gladiolus's pat on the shoulder was like a boulder from a trebuchet. “All right, drama time's over. I got things to get back to.” 

Ardyn tried to at least make the elevator ride amusingly awkward, but Gladiolus would not indulge him. In front of the building, he turned his back and walked away without even the grace to look nervous. 

There would, of course, still be eyes on Ardyn. He decided to disappoint them. 

He walked back to the apartment through abandoned streets. Everyone was at the Citadel, united in half-understanding commemoration of the day their king had filled Ardyn's heart with sharp steel and relief. For all the myriad weapons he had employed throughout the battle, he had ended it with his father's sword.

Now there was a man with a respectable sense of drama. 

If Ardyn had still possessed his previous powers, he could have frozen time and walked through the throng of mourners to address the statue in person. As it was, it would suffice to stop on the front walk and lift his eyes toward the sun.

“Noct,” Ardyn said, too softly to carry beyond himself. “Thank you.” 

He went inside to wait for his little master to come home.

* * *

For how much Prompto had been dreading it, it wasn't so bad. The place where Noct was supposed to be wasn't any more empty than it always was. The difference was it was okay for everybody to look there, today. 

A lot of people were there early, but he, Ignis, and Gladio got to take a flower each from the table first. They had a lot; one thing the long night had left them with was plenty of extra greenhouses. They saluted Cor and went up the steps into the throne room. 

It was quiet in here, in the big space that held you like you were stepping onto someone's palm. No one had repaired the wall. The sunlight streaming in through the broken stone seemed right, somehow. Gladio went up, then Ignis, to kneel for a second, say what they needed to say, and leave a flower by a throne that would always be empty. 

When it was his turn Prompto knelt with the syleblossom's stem pinched between his fingers, and said, “I miss you, buddy.” 

He left the flower there and walked out with his friends. 

There would be people doing that all day, the crowd filing by. It wasn't real formal. Noct was never a big speeches kind of guy. 

The three of them took a place in the square under the shadow of the wrapped-up statue, and people came by on the way to pay their respects. It was amazing how many there were, some talking about stories and memories they had, some just going down the line of three and shaking their hands. Cor, Cid and Cindy, Sania, Dave, a couple whose car they'd fixed, a fisherman who had them laughing about how he'd been a retired old guy even back then and here was this smartass kid who it turned out was a kindred spirit. Prompto had thought it would be impossible, but it turned out talking about Noct was easy. It was just acknowledging the things he was thinking all the time, and knowing that other people were thinking about him too. His heart ached like a bruise and he was grateful, for not being alone, for having this between them all, and for the little pack of tissues Ignis slipped in his pocket. 

Aranea tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Holding up?” and he said, “Yeah.” 

When the sun was high in the sky, the statue was unveiled. It felt right that Talcott was the one to pull the canvas off. Prompto's fingernails bit into his palm and he made himself be ready. It was something people needed, and Noct wasn't just theirs anymore. 

After all this time and all the knots in his stomach, it actually wasn't that bad. The white stone face wasn't the Noct who was in the pictures in Prompto's drawer at home. He was a different one

“How does he look?” Ignis said softly. 

Prompto's throat hurt when he swallowed. “Like a king.” 

He stayed there underneath it, missing Noct and so proud of him he thought his heart would come apart at the rivets. Eventually the stream of people slowed down, and Gladio heard something from his walkie-talkie that made him go “I'm on it” and disappear for a while. When he came back they were still talking to everybody who came by, until it wasn't even stories anymore, and was just remembering Noct. 

Prompto could feel it coming like a cold hand wrapping around his ankle, dragging its way up by inches. He held out a while after it got dark, then, in the middle of watching the little flecks of light come on as people lit each other's candles, all at once he couldn't be there anymore. 

He tapped Ignis and Gladio on the arm and said, “Hey. I gotta.” 

He didn't really hear what they said. Just felt a squeeze on one shoulder, and another on his arm.

Nobody noticed one person in black breaking away. 

He saw the asphalt moving under his feet and felt his steps. He felt the dark and knew his hands were cold in his pockets, but he didn't remember how he got home. He pulled the door open,let it fall shut. There were lights on here, and a hook to put his coat on. It was quiet, with no one watching, and the second his guard went down the horrible wet clinging grief leapt hand over hand up his calves and choked him. 

Prompto made it two steps past the shoes lined up in the entryway before he crumpled into a crouch with his back against the wall. His face buried in his doubled-up arms so all he could see was darkness and those behind-the-eyelids lights, but tears didn't happen. Just unsobbed, airless gasps.

Footsteps came close, and stopped. 

“It's never easier,” Prompto said into the dark. His voice was thick. “It's not ever going to be. He's everywhere and that's good, I don't want him to be gone. But I hate how wrong it is that he's not here. I can't even hate you as much as I wish I could, just to feel something else. I don't even want to hit you. All I want is for it to stop hurting for a minute.” 

He lifted his face. 

Ardyn must have taken a shower not long ago. Sometime lately his hair had gotten long, and when it was straight it lay past his shoulders. He was standing with one hand on the wall, big gold eyes watching, and Prompto needed it so much that the look of compassion he wore wasn't even horrible. 

Prompto's teeth caught the inside of his lip, not hard enough. He couldn't try to pretend he wasn't begging. “I just want to forget.” 

Ardyn's hand whispered down.

Ardyn said, “Come here.”

* * *

Once, when Prompto had been going through an icy cave with Noct and them, he'd slipped. The world had gone out from underneath him and let him shoot off into midair, and his whole life hung on how he fast he could grab for the ledge. 

He grabbed Ardyn and kissed him like that. 

Big hands caught him around the waist, and the scrape of stubble on his face was like a glitter in the dark to run towards. His fingers clawed up in cloth as Ardyn's lips opened to let him in. Another person's breath on his face could be enough to drown out himself. He thought for a second that this was stupid and wrong, and then when the other man took off his sweater and shirt he didn't have to think about that anymore either. 

Prompto bit his gloves off and threw them on the floor. Chest hair was wiry under his palms. He grabbed hard, and the quick muffled gasp and deepened kiss told him it hurt. One hand felt along the wall as he moved backwards, and the other kept anchored to the other body. When his hand smacked into the closed door with a hollow thud he pulled the big man forward to get himself pinned and pressed his face into the arch of the throat, nipping all over to taste salt and hear his sighs. He smelled like the soap they shared, and had the mercy not to try to tell him it was okay. 

Blind, Prompto's hand grabbed the doorknob and turned, and when he stumbled back into the room it took a second to understand why he was alone. The silhouette was stuck in the doorway. Standing order. 

Before thought could sharpen into slicing edges, Prompto said, “Get in here.” 

The room was dark and he left it that way. He fell back on the bed and set his nails into the other man's shoulders to pull him on top of him. His hands struggling with his clothes were frantic, jamming his fingertips on the brass buttons, but the other man's hands were steady as a surgeon's stitches. The touch felt so good that it should have been horrible but Prompto refused to remember why. Hands were on him, running the full palm all over his chest and his hips like rain down a window, and neither of them were anyone. The awful thing chasing him was over his shoulder so he faced forward as hard as he could. 

“Come on,” he said, and yanked at his undershirt. Something tore. “Come on.” 

The fireworks through the window lit a naked man on his hands and knees, and the crack and sizzle of sound came a second later. The flexing muscles in his back were dyed blue while Prompto prepped him, moving fast, and there was a bit-down hissing sound. 

“Don't be quiet,” Prompto said. “Please don't.” 

The breaking out of gasps and murmurs told him he wasn't alone.

Prompto hurried, and then his body did everything by itself. He grabbed onto the man's hips and buried in him, and it was relief like coming up to breathe or like giving in during the worst part of a horror movie and closing your eyes. Somewhere his own voice was babbling _Please don't leave me. Don't leave me alone._ The fireworks rattled the window. He wrapped his arms tight around the other man's middle and felt a big hand hold onto his forearm. The fireworks flashed, and the small wet spots on Ardyn's back glistened red. His hair was so long. It was him because he was here. He wasn't who was missing. 

Prompto whispered, “Noct.” 

The fireworks were steady bursts until they stopped. 

In the quiet, all Prompto could think about was how tired he was. Blankets wrapped around him. He pressed up against the warm body. Arms wrapped around him, and the side of the chest was a good place to put his head. It was comfortable there. There was a low, constant sound against his ear that it took him a minute to notice, soft as the feeling of somebody kissing his hand.

* * *

Ardyn woke feeling, physically, wonderful. Warm and sated, he lay there enjoying the early sunlight on his face and drinking in the unprecedented luxury of being in his little master's bed with his hands free. His arms were full of a beautiful young man whose somnolent breath fell on his collarbone. Ardyn set his mind to memorizing the sensation down to his cells, while allowing himself gradually to become aware that this bounty had been bought with suffering. 

Had Ardyn not been stripped of his unnatural powers, he would have stopped time in this instant, and perhaps never found the inclination to begin it again. As it was, he hoarded the moment in the prosaic way of humans. 

Prompto was, ever and despite it all, an early riser. He stirred in Ardyn's arms, and there were but seconds to find a way to tilt the balance of pain. 

The boy had come to him scraped raw, desperate enough to break the rules of the game they lived beneath and accept his comfort. Ardyn could hold him close and tell him it was all right, urge his hands to feel the skin that had absorbed his tears, offer him sympathy. How easily he could do that, and watch the inevitable shift in his little master's face from confusion to horror, confronted in his most vulnerable moment with what he could not abide.

Prompto's eyelids fluttered open, and like pulling on a coat grown ill-fitting, Ardyn donned who he used to be. 

“Good morning, little master,” Ardyn purred, curling his mouth into a satisfied smirk. “And what a very good morning it is.” 

He let go of Prompto and sat up, sheets sliding from him and exposing his chest to the chill air. He stretched elaborately into the sting of the marks left by the desperate nails that had clung to him as to debris in a shipwreck, and into the deeper ache. 

_Noct._

“I,” he declared, “am deliciously sore.” 

Prompto blinked rapidly, clearing the haze from his eyes. “What...”

“...happened?” Ardyn said, before the boy's own answer could solidify. 

He leaned toward the young man who had been driven into his arms by the agony of his lost love.

“Why, we had a bit of fun. You were looking under the weather, so I prescribed a roll in the hay and a good night's sleep. I would say it has worked wonders.” 

Prompto pushed himself up and crushed the pillow behind him. He scrubbed at his eyes with his forearm, and that could have been what made them red-rimmed, arguably. Fear lurked at the edge of his voice, waiting to be invited in. “Oh my god.” 

“That is precisely what I said.” Ardyn draped himself half over the headboard and gave an inviting look. “I don't suppose I could interest you in round two?” 

“You are...” The pause was long as Prompto looked at him, until the threatening abyss in his eyes faded. You could observe the moment when he made the decision of what this was. “...such a weird old pervert.” 

The note of gratitude could not have been intended. 

“Guilty as charged.” Ardyn swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stood, and pulled on his trousers. His body gave him a symphony of slight pangs that harmonized with the memory of his little master's sobbed breath. 

_Noct._

Ardyn smiled brightly. “Coffee?” 

“Yeah.” Prompto rubbed at his face. “Yeah, sure.” 

Ardyn strode from the room humming. 

He kept up the tune and the hip-swaying stride down the hall, across the living room, and to the kitchen, where his face fell blank. His motions became mechanical as he filled the pot's reservoir with water, replaced the filter, and measured in two scoops of ground coffee from the tin. He'd nearly gotten used to how easy it was. When the machine began its wholesome burbling, he exhaled. There was no sound of an opening door or footsteps from Prompto's room.

 _Noct._

Ardyn gripped the edge of the sink and let agony wrack him.

* * *

It was some time before he pulled breath deeply into his lungs and bound the pieces of himself together. There were tasks to be done.

Ardyn cooked only rarely. As his little master had put it, _It's not that I think you're gonna poison anybody. I just don't super trust you to remember how human food works._ Ardyn had recalled getting caught biting into a raw head of broccoli for the fascinating texture and conceded the point. Eggs and toast, however, were considered within his purview. The work was centering, the mechanism of the motions pulling him through from second to second. When he heard the bedroom door open on the other side of the apartment, he ignored the core of him that felt shot through with a hollow metal pipe and set himself to humming once again. 

Prompto entered, clad in his jogging clothes, and accepted a mug and plate with mumbled thanks. While he was rather quiet, in a thoughtful rather than morose way, Ardyn was accomplished at chattering. He draped himself over the opposite chair at the table, ignored the sting of absent caresses, and between bites of toast that tasted like cloth and ashes let his voice prattle about the day's upcoming work. 

“You don't have to do that,” Prompto said. 

“Hm? Do what, my dear little master?” 

Prompto's face was tilted downward, half-hidden by his still unruly hair. “That thing where you pretend you're okay when you're not.” 

Ardyn kept his careless expression impeccable. “I haven't the least idea what you mean.” 

“Dude, I know that thing.” Prompto shot him a wry look, as though this were all a somewhat awkward and unwieldy joke of which they shared ownership. “I invented that thing.” 

“Ah.” Ardyn found himself dry of words. “Well.” 

His fork clinked on the plate. It was interesting how the sensation of the most prosaic motions was altered by the lingering feeling of his little master's touch on his skin. 

Prompto said, “I wasn't thinking about him.” 

He spoke as hurriedly as slipping an illicit letter beneath a door. Ardyn stopped moving, fork nestled against his thumb, and watched him. 

“I mean, I always am, I can't ever not-- I mean, I wasn't, like, imagining it. Him. I knew it was you.”

Also interesting that the feeling of having a secure assumption assailed could be too sharp to identify as either relief or pain. Ardyn was learning much, this morning. 

“You,” he observed, “are the most brilliant shade of red I have ever witnessed a human being.” 

“I used you to feel better.” Prompto's eyes were fixed on his lap. “That's a messed up thing to do to somebody. I'm sorry.” 

There had been a strategist of antiquity given to pithy axioms, such as, _The fool underestimates his enemy, and the greater fool his ally._

Ardyn lifted his bare shoulders as though shrugging off a garment. 

“Prompto,” he said, and waited until his little master's eyes met his. The traces of embarrassment were making a slow retreat from his skin. He looked a more solid man than the one who had first awoken, and his red-tinged eyes were steady. “Rather than grant forgiveness, I would ask to be given a degree of credit. You asked. You did not compel. I chose my actions, and would again. Though I would rather you come to me in desire than in pain, I do not and shall never regret this night. And whatever may happen, should you come to me again...” 

Prompto swallowed. His neck was smooth, freshly shaven, and the little beard that had tickled Ardyn's chest had been trimmed. “Yeah?” 

Ardyn leaned in and cocked his head. “Pull my hair a bit.” 

There had never been a trumpet of victory that squeaked or snorted like his little master's startled laugh.

There was to be no work that day. Ardyn imagined it would become tradition quickly enough, one whose origin might even be remembered. After all the observances he had seen born, the festivals, victories, and atonements, it was a unique sensation to know that he would not witness this one's centennial. He expected he would be left to his own devices and that Prompto would lock himself in his room, and found himself half correct. 

Ardyn did not mind being at loose ends. He was the world's foremost expert in filling time. 

The ordinary world began an inch away from Ardyn's skin, buffered by a zone where his little master's lingering touch wrapped around him like the afterimage left by a warp. It was fascinating to see life continue on beyond him, as if the universe had not shifted. He might as well play along. 

When he went through the living room to seek the television and the soap opera he had begun to watch out of aloof irony and found himself invested in, he discovered Prompto seated at the table with photographs spread out before him. These were images from a distance, the ribs of buildings in repair, the small shapes of humans hoisting a framework into place. They were unlike the portraits and poses from the night in the caravan when Ardyn had come to experience his killer and victim as a man, when the tagalong boy had offered a deck of photographs toward their undesired guest and said, _Um, you wanna see?_

There was a shape at the edge of a photo, among other laboring figures. It took a moment to recognize.

Unintended, Ardyn said, “My, is that me?” 

“Well, yeah.” Prompto looked up from silhouettes at sunset and gave Ardyn a faint, co-conspirator's smile. “What am I gonna do, pretend you don't exist?” 

“You would be following precedent.” 

Prompto's eyes meandered with a touch of reflexive embarrassment. “I actually was gonna with the first one, a long time ago. Caught you at the edge. I was gonna just snip it off, but then it felt kind of ridiculous. I don't wanna be one of those creepy guys in movies scratching the eyes off pictures.” 

“It's not worth the effort. Most often you only crinkle the thing.”

“Heh. You would know.” 

Ardyn leaned over for a better look at one that was upside-down, and his thoughtless body corrected its balance with a hand on Prompto's shoulder. 

The flinch was expected. The hesitant press of his hand to keep it there was not. 

“Cameras are interesting.” Prompto's gaze lingered on a photograph where Ardyn was one of many figures marching from right to left, sacks of gravel over their shoulders, his face turned in conversation to the man beside him. “They don't show why things happen, or how they got to be what they are. Just what's there.” 

The warmth of his skin leached through the thin fabric of his t-shirt to fill Ardyn's palm. 

“What a torment these could be,” Ardyn murmured.

“Hm?” Prompto arranged a square of rainstorm images. One displayed Ardyn's form in profile beneath a hood; small, prosaic, and incalculably precious.

“Evidence of my existence. You could burn them before me.” How easy to picture a slow flame devouring him. “Bid me to beg and crawl for their preservation.” 

Prompto's eyes moved to the side, a line of a frown between them. His slender hand tightened on Ardyn's. “That'd be messed up. I wouldn't do that.” His brows lifted. “Besides, I'm not gonna wreck my own stuff just to mess with you. Some of these are pretty good.” 

“So they are,” said Ardyn, amidst the unsettling undertow of relief. 

Prompto fell silent for a time, arranging the rows. 

“Back in high school there was this teacher who told me I could do it professionally, like be a war reporter. Said it was important. Can you imagine? I didn't want to be important. I just wanted to hang out with my friends. Have something to remember the good stuff by. I didn't want to be one of those people who took the pictures you see in history books.” 

He picked up one of a women on their crew leaning against a wall, a sledgehammer over her shoulder.

“There's one of those I remember. Some old Niflheim general guy all beaten down. And the words tell you about all the awful stuff he's done, so your brain knows he deserves it, but you can't feel that when you look. Your eyes just see a person.”

He remained there for some time, looking through the photographs and showing Ardyn his favorites. 

That night, when Ardyn had dressed for bed and was headed to take his place on the couch, he found Prompto standing in the doorway of his room.

“You can come in, if you want,” his little master said. “Whenever.” 

Somewhere in the system of spells that armored Ardyn, the command of nonadmittance melted away. 

The lights were off when he entered, leaving only the horizontal stripes of moonlight through the open blinds to reveal Prompto in his undergarments and to remind Ardyn how recently he had been here in his arms, bound with his pain. Ardyn held out his hands for his ropes. 

“Nah.” His little master turned away and pulled the covers up. “If you were gonna hurt me, you would've.” 

Ardyn slipped in beside him. He could have slept, but lay there a while, feeling the sheets grow warm to his body and listening to his beating heart keep time.


	19. Chapter 19

Prompto wondered how he was ever going to handle this until it turned out he didn't have to. The next day brought a snowstorm. They spent a week fixing snowplows, spreading out salt, and shoveling, shoveling, shoveling, and nobody had time to think about having had sex at all. 

He'd figured Ardyn would want some space for a while, but he kept coming through the open door into Prompto's room at night. It was just practical when it was this cold.

In a weird way, it was kind of too bad that the flirting game was over, now that Ardyn didn't want him anymore. Joke or not, the flattery had been nice. Even for a magic zombie it had to've been disappointing to build it up for so long and then get that. Talk about an anticlimax. 

Luckily there wasn't time to mope about anything. You couldn't be isolated these days. There wasn't any sitting at home alone like Prompto used to do as a kid, not when the city needed every pair of hands. People got frustrated, though, especially when the top layer of snow froze into a crust you had to hack at with a shovel to break through. Ardyn was big, which helped, and funny, which helped more. Sure, maybe the skills came from two thousand years of manipulating people, but he could make somebody with snow in their socks at seven a.m. laugh. 

All that white made for a clean backdrop. Now and then Prompto found a chance to fumble his camera out in his gloved hands and snap a picture. 

There was some pride in going home through streets that were a lot easier to get through than they had been that morning. When they got home Prompto took his boots off and sorted through the shots he'd taken, looking out for ones with a glimpse of yeti pimp coat or purple hair. 

“Oh, here,” he said, coming up behind Ardyn and letting the envelope drop on the table. 

“Hm?” Ardyn's head lifted, and he straightened in his chair, as straight as he ever sat. You couldn't take the slouch out of the bad guy. “What might this be, little master?” 

Prompto went by to go raid the fridge. “Your copies.”

* * *

Snow slid off a branch and thumped on the ground outside the window, but Prompto didn't need to open his eyes yet. His bed was warm, and he had the covers up over his shoulders. His face was sweaty on the side that pressed against Ardyn's chest. The heater thunked and hissed down in the basement, but the closer thing was the long, slow breathing. He tried, lazily and without much effort, to remember the dream he'd had, and where it had ended. 

The chocobo rescue stables needed weatherproofing. He'd call Libertus to work out the truck delivery schedule and see what the scavenger groups were bringing in. They needed more lumber and less steel, but the copper wire last week had been a godsend. Doing the stables had taken a day of fuzzy insulation in his hands and the thwack of a staple gun. They were done. The old bank building on Fifth had to come down, they said, and that was a big project that would take a lot of people who knew demolition. He'd get it done sometime between now and when Ardyn broke free and killed him. He smoothed out the scrunched pajama fabric under his cheek to get more comfortable. It was too nice here to move for a while. Peaceful. The roads again. Ardyn's arm flexed under him and wrapped around. He'd get more salt from the warehouse. Go through the supply forms. Get gas for the plows. He fell asleep again with the checklist half done.

* * *

Life continued. Snow was, like many things, much more vivid and difficult when you could not merely float above it. Ardyn had no bruises to mark time by, besides the prosaic accidents of work, but there were other landmarks. He produced potions, spoke of the past to the young historian in the infinite gratification of his fascination, and gained new sets of photographs from Prompto's hand. It became a ritual, fitted into the pattern of days that had a rise and fall of rhythm when one had physical needs, rather than the monotone of a revenant. 

As tonight was not Ardyn's turn to do the dishes – in possession of a thrall though he was, no other possible system seemed to occur to Prompto – he sat in the living room, paging slowly through the images that bore his incidental likeness. Here in this last brief lifetime, he would be remembered. 

Prompto's hand tapped his shoulder, still damp. “You like those ones, huh.” 

“They are remarkable."

“The colors there came out pretty good,” said his little master, modestly. 

“Lovely,” said Ardyn, observing how the evening light darkened the wine of his hair. “I don't suppose you'd allow me to do something depraved for you in proper thanks?” 

Prompto fell into a fit of coughing. “Dude, still?”

Ardyn gave him a quizzical look. “Still what?” 

“You can't be interested anymore. Since we did.” Redness was climbing up his neck. “That.” 

“If that is an order, little master, it is not within my power to obey.” Ardyn placed the photographs together and straightened the stack, one by one. Heat and pain rose together inside him at the memory of Prompto's arm around him and his tears on his back.“I desire you and ever shall. Nothing has changed but for an appetite whetted. Should you wish it, I would lavish pleasure upon you with joy. Or speak, and I will carry my longing in silence.” 

Prompto smiled crookedly, color suffusing his skin. “Like you've ever done anything in silence.” 

“I'll do my best.” 

Ardyn returned his attention to the photographs, giving Prompto his opportunity to wander away to his business. 

When Ardyn looked up, Prompto was still there. He had his eyes on the floor, his toe working back and forth against the grain of the carpet. He pulled his bottom lip slowly between his teeth. Ardyn's heart gave a violent twist when he recognized the look of a man considering. 

Prompto said, “What if we.”

* * *

Eyes downcast, as though admitting a fault, Prompto said, “I'm gonna need you to be hurting.” 

Arousal curled in Ardyn's stomach throughout the settling of the logistics. The decision they came to was uncooked rice scattered on the kitchen floor, where Ardyn would kneel. As he undressed, Prompto placed his hand in the bag and hesitated. Ardyn gave him a questioning look.

“It's not-” Prompto said with a sheepish smile. “It's just hard to waste food.” 

The cord tied to the collar had been Ardyn's idea. 

Gooseflesh rose on his bare body as he sank to the chill floor and the grains of rice pressed intriguing points of pain into his knees. He gazed up at his little master and waited. Prompto took the improvised leash in hand. 

“Here's the rules,” he said. To be towered over was a unique sensation. “You can get up and leave whenever. Anytime you want to stop, you stop. But you only go when I say.” 

“Understood, little master,” Ardyn said, and being a man with only so much restraint, licked his lips with slow deliberation. 

“Okay.” Prompto closed his eyes for a moment. His throat jumped as he swallowed. He wrapped the end of the cord around his hand and said again, to himself, “Okay.” 

The slight pressure on the collar made waves of heat rise through Ardyn's body, but it was nothing to the sight of Prompto's hand on the fly of his trousers. The zipper muttered down. Ardyn held himself still and let the rice bite into his knees. Time was his little master's prerogative. He found it fascinating that Prompto was able to beat a man to climax without a qualm, yet was turned crimson and unsure by the simple act of admitting he possessed physical needs of his own.

He forced himself to patience as Prompto withdrew his cock from his undergarments. It was not the sight itself but the gesture of exposure that was new, exquisite and dangerous. The white elastic band settled low around his hips, underlining the place where Ardyn had once pressed a kiss. 

Heart quickening, Ardyn said, “May I use my hands?” 

“Yeah.” The effort Prompto was making to breathe deeply was visible in the rise of his shoulders. He remained fully clothed, in order to provide himself a degree of protection. “Just go easy, okay?” 

He was not yet hard; it injured Ardyn's pride to eschew the proper overture of kissing and caressing him until his cock was primed for attention, but he who could not play at a disadvantage was no true virtuoso. 

He leaned forward, knees beginning to ache in earnest, collar pressing with subtle insistence against his neck. “Yes, little master.” 

He could not resist first running a finger down Prompto's cock from base to tip, as he had the night when his little master was brave. The sensation was much different on bare skin rather than through an undergarment. Prompto's shirt was rucked up above the waistline, revealing the trail of gold hair on his stomach.

“Lovely,” he murmured, and wrapped his hand about the base. 

He gave the tip light kisses, getting properly acquainted as he savored the position. He wanted the weight in his hand, the quickening of Prompto's breath, and the slight salt taste of his skin all indelibly committed to memory. He licked along the length as arousal thrummed a pleasant ache, echoing the twinge of pain in his body. To perform such service for a commoner boy was intoxicatingly perverse. 

_Observe a king on his knees for you._

The already sharp sensations of a living body were heightened in these moments. He soaked in the way the cold air that lay along the floor chilled his naked body, and the prickle of hairs along his arms. Ardyn lifted his eyes as he licked along the top, met Prompto's wide-eyed gaze and felt his trembling. 

“If you have ever wanted to slap someone in the face with your cock,” Ardyn mentioned, “the opportunity is now.” 

He had the victory of startling Prompto into a laugh. “That'd just be rude, man. Plus, stubble burn.” 

Ardyn observed the interesting effects of being at this low and intimate angle, the prickles of pain in his knees not nearly so delicious as the victory of feeling Prompto growing hard. 

Ardyn mentioned, “I could shave.” 

“Maybe later.” One hand shifted its grip on the leash, and the other rested in Ardyn's hair. A tremulous smile played about his lips, delicate as a candleflame. “Okay. I can handle more.” 

In honesty, beginning slowly was for Ardyn's sake as well as Prompto's. The mere reality of taking the tip in his mouth required a deal of care. It had been some time since he last performed this act, and far more since he had experienced it while breathing was more than a cosmetic affectation. That, and the necessity of savoring the culmination of his desires. He could have spent ages reveling, but his job was to pleasure a man.

Ardyn ran his tongue around the head of Prompto's cock and gloried at his sharp intake of breath. 

He took in more of the length and the rice dug into his knees as he leaned forward. For a reputedly simple act it took a surprising amount of awareness of multiple factors. Suction, motion, keeping his teeth out of the way, wrapping his hand around his little master's sac, the nontrivial issue of balance, all were essential to consider in lavishing the beautiful cock with the attention it deserved. His concentration was badly affected when he realized Prompto was controlling his pace through little tugs on the leash. 

“Stop,” Prompto said. 

On withdrawal Ardyn immediately missed the sensation of a cock filling his mouth. He sat back on his folded legs, the hard points of pain dotting his calves making poor recompense for the loss, and folded hands that craved to caress. There was color in Prompto's face, and his eyes were closed. Prompto took shallow breaths, followed by a deep one that lifted and dropped his shoulders. 

“Okay,” Prompto said. “Keep going.” 

He stopped him twice more, once with his hand tightening on the leash, once taking a sudden half-step away. 

“Need a sec,” he said with a flitting, apologetic smile. “Just...felt too good. You can get up and take a break if you want.” 

With some ostentation, Ardyn shifted to press his knees more firmly into the grains of rice on the floor. 

When he resumed, he felt the old talents returning to him as he leaned into the unsteady fingers stroking his hair. He worshiped Prompto's cock, took it as deeply as his throat would allow, and received the incalculable sweetness of the victory in the whispered word, “More.” 

Ardyn lost himself in his task, in the slide of the thick cock between his lips, and in the soft sighs and sounds from above him, some sharp as though in startlement at feeling pleasure. As he flicked his tongue along the underside of Prompto's shaft he enjoyed a pang of jealousy at the thought that he was not the first king to trod this sacred ground, though he was the superior in skill to any callow boy. His cock throbbed with his heartbeat, and there was a satisfaction in ignoring that, as well. 

“Touch yourself,” Prompto said. His hand tightened in Ardyn's hair, nails pressing tingling crescents to the scalp. “Get yourself off.” 

_Yes, little master,_ Ardyn thought, and expressed as, “Mmh.” 

He shifted his weight onto his knees as he wrapped his hand around his own cock and stroked in time with the motions of his head and tongue, as though they were one circuit of united desire. His little master's gift to his neglected body was exquisite, a relief so intense as to be freshly painful.

Prompto began making low sounds, a staccato _Ah, ah, ah_ , and gasped a warning. Ardyn went still to receive him.

The preparations were not quite enough. Reflex was not certain how to handle the burst into his mouth, hot and fascinatingly bitter, and there was a degree of overflow. When Prompto's cock withdrew, Ardyn gave the tip a parting kiss before looking up into his little master's face, sitting back, and licking the trickle from the corner of his lips. 

His own climax was nearly an afterthought. He watched his little master watch him spill on the floor. 

“Woah.” Prompto placed his hand on the counter as he tucked himself away, then sank down beside Ardyn to sit with his back to the cabinets. He gave a woozy smile. How lovely and unburdened he looked. 

Ardyn fell back on his bare behind and swept clinging grains of rice from his knees, though the ache would, with any luck, adhere for some time. “I am glad to be of service.” 

And there was, next, a shock.

Prompto leaned over, his elbow knocking against the cabinet door with a rattle, and kissed him on the cheek. 

“I needed that.”

* * *

Prompto said, “The thing is, nobody ever gets the balance right.” 

Ardyn groaned. 

Shifting around to the left made things more comfortable. Well, for Prompto. Probably not for Ardyn, with an elbow stuck in his midriff. He made a good couch, though. It was pretty chilly in Prompto's room, so a big naked guy on the bed made for nice warm furniture. 

“I mean, sure, I'm not saying I want one of those things where if you don't want to spend money you're stuck grinding for months to get anything good.” 

“Naturally.” Ardyn's voice was faint and distracted. “You are a busy man.” 

“But on the other hand, with this one, lately they just hand you more and more stuff. There's all these free gachas. Hold on a sec, I need to do some precision tapping here. No squirming or I'll turn it up.” 

Ardyn went still except for his tied-up hands grabbing onto the headboard.

When Prompto had a second between waves of enemies, he glanced up and gave a nasty smile. “I mean, I'm gonna anyway.” 

Ardyn's head fell back on the pillow, and he laughed the way he did when Prompto did something just the right kind of mean. 

“Legs open.” When Ardyn obeyed, Prompto reached under him and turned the vibrator in his ass up a click. He must've been doing his best to be a good boy. He didn't writhe around or anything. Just whimpered. 

“Anyway,” Prompto said, while he kept doing the fight, “like I was saying, there's taking it too far in the other direction, you know? Ever since a couple updates ago, if you pull a good item for a character you don't have, they just _give_ them to you. I wanna feel like I'm earning stuff. Hey, should I go for another roll?” 

He kept his eyes on the screen, but he could hear Ardyn swallow and pant a couple times before answering. “Fortune favors the bold.” 

“Kay, whatever you say.” Prompto tapped the banner and watched the animation play. You had to watch. Skipping right through ruined the moment. “Ooh, an EX weapon! Nice.” 

For a reward he turned the vibrator up another notch, and Ardyn's body tensed and tried to arch under him. He couldn't go far, though, with Prompto leaning on top of him and with the short cord tying his collar to the headboard. Having a leash on him had been fun enough that Prompto wanted to experiment some more, and Ardyn hadn't minded, unless you called closing his eyes and shivering a bunch complaining. 

“I'm not gonna let you come today,” Prompto mentioned, flicking through character menus to get everybody equipped with the new stuff. “Not cause of anything you did. Just don't feel like it.” 

Ardyn's dick was laying on his stomach, red all over and shiny at the end. He'd never actually come against orders yet. Prompto figured he could tell him not to and then do stuff to him so he couldn't help it, just to see how melodramatic he'd get, but that'd be going against the spirit of the game. Whenever Prompto messed around with being mean or unfair, he was sure this was the time he was going to catch Ardyn letting some irritation slip. 

All Ardyn did was murmur, “As is your prerogative, little master.” 

Prompto tugged on his nipple just to make him hiss. “Not that it matters, with a sneaky guy like you. I know you just go beat off whenever.” 

“I would never!” Ardyn said, going all over the top joke-offended. 

“Uhhhhh-huh. Okay, that's enough of that.” 

Prompto put his phone down on the bedside table. He pulled the toy out of Ardyn fast enough to make him yelp, then turned it off and set it aside. Ardyn's hard breathing sounded louder with the buzz gone. He made an _oof_ sound when Prompto hopped on top of him and straddled his stomach. Prompto planted his hands on the big purple-hair-dusted chest and felt it go up and down. 

“Hey. You know what.” 

Ardyn's tongue flicked out over his lips. He must've been biting them. His yellow eyes were all hazy from sex. “What, my dear, cruel boy?” 

Prompto got a good firm seat and leaned in close. “You can kiss me if you want.” 

Ardyn's surge forward rattled the bedframe when the leash caught him short. 

“What?” Prompto said, tilting his head a little and staying real close. “You don't want a kiss? I'm right here.” 

Ardyn lifted his face toward him and got to about half an inch away. He pressed hard enough that the tendons on his neck stood out, but the cord held. Prompto had tied the knot good. 

“I mean, I get it,” Prompto said. He had a solid grip up by Ardyn's shoulders, bracing himself with his face so close he could see the little flecks of darker gold in Ardyn's eyes. “We've done it a couple times, so it's not so special now. But I'm kinda in the mood for a little peck.” 

Ardyn's head dropped with a thump and a cloud of purple hair. His chest went up and down fast, then he gulped a breath before diving up and trying again. It was pretty impressive how close he got, with the collar digging into his neck. 

“Just not interested? You're kinda hurting my feelings here, dude.” 

Ardyn dropped his head and gasped for breath. When he laughed, Prompto could feel the rumble all through his body. 

Huh, Prompto was hard. Weird. 

Grinding down against Ardyn's stomach and slipping his finger under the collar to trace over his neck meant feeling him shiver, too. 

“I'll just hang out here a minute,” he said, so close he could see all the individual bristles of the stubble on Ardyn's cheeks. “In case you change your-”

Ardyn rose up and kissed him. It must have been an incredible effort against the collar sinking into his neck and cutting off his air, but he made it, lips just managing to brush Prompto's. It was only right to lean down a little and give him some more pressure, and to lick along where his lips met until he opened up for him and Prompto could make it deeper for a second, when he'd worked that hard to do something he shouldn't've been able to. Maybe Prompto had misjudged the distance. 

Maybe he hadn't. 

Ardyn's face was turning purple. Prompto shoved him down and ordered, “Breathe.” 

Ardyn heaved in a breath, and his head lolled to the side, with a little smile on his lips. 

Prompto touched his throat just above the collar, real light. He was going to be feeling Ardyn on his mouth for a while. It was funny how somebody else's mouth could taste different from yours, even when it didn't really taste like anything. “Wow, man. That's gonna bruise.” 

“Mm.” Ardyn's eyes were slitted half-closed. His voice was rough and fuzzy. “For days, little master, whenever I speak or swallow, I shall desire you anew.”

* * *

“That's a six.” 

It was kind of impressive that Ardyn didn't groan. He just took a deep breath as Prompto sank the stroker down over his cock. It was interesting to watch, with Prompto not having to put much effort in; all he had to do was move the thing up and down, and real soon Ardyn was twisting around and pulling at his ropes with his muscles bunching up and scraping at the sheets with his heels. 

It was pretty funny how he looked when he was close and really fighting it. His eyes screwed shut and his lips twitched back, his toes curled so hard they went pale, and he made these grunting sounds. Prompto knew just the last second to pull the stroker away and let him collapse onto the bed with what must've been a rough kind of frustration and relief. 

“Roll or quit?” Prompto said cheerfully. 

The collar bobbed when Ardyn swallowed. “Roll.” 

It'd taken a few tyings and re-tyings to get his hand at just the right angle, but Ardyn hadn't minded. Well, if he had, there wasn't anything he could do about it. Prompto set the die in the middle of his palm, then paused with his hand still resting there. 

“You sure? If you get a one again, not gonna lie to you, it's gonna hurt a lot.” The last one had gotten him those cute little nipple clips put on. Prompto tweaked one with his free hand. “I bet it'd feel really good to throw in the towel about now, get free and just touch yourself all you want...”

“Roll, little master.” 

“Suit yourself.” 

The die clonked onto the bedside table. Ardyn's eyes were straining to catch the number, but it'd rolled where he couldn't see. Prompto let out a low whistle, which was hard to do when his mouth was trying to pull into a nasty smile. 

“Bad luck, buddy. One.” 

“How awful,” Ardyn breathed, with his eyes going wide in anticipation. 

Prompto picked up the riding crop that was leaned next to the dresser and gave it a couple good swooshes through the air. “Can you believe people used to use these things on poor, innocent chocobos?” 

“Barbaric.” Ardyn's eyes followed the tip. 

“Here, give it a smooch hello.” 

When the crop rested on Ardyn's lips, he really did kiss it like he meant it, eyes closed, giving it all his attention, looking the same way he had when he'd been allowed to kiss Prompto's hip. 

Prompto's body wasn't doing any work yet. His heart must've jumped the gun and sped up in advance.

He was proud of his aim. He got a stroke dead on across both of Ardyn's nipples on the first try. Ardyn's yelp was loud, and he only got louder as his back arched into each hit that clacked on the clips, until first the left then the right got smacked off, ping ping, and he howled. 

Prompto let the crop hang lazy by his side. Ardyn fell back on the bed, breathing hard, sweaty all over. His nipples were bright pink. 

“Quit or roll?” Prompto chirped.

“Mmmm.” His mouth did that thing where it curled up at the corners like a cat's. “Roll.” 

It was a three. Then a seventeen. (“Getting closer!”) That second time, while Prompto was working him up again and he was just starting to hiss between his teeth, Prompto leaned in and mentioned, “You could just come without permission, y'know.” 

“Ngghhh.” 

“I wouldn't punish you, or even be mad.” He kept the stroker moving steadily. It was a good, satisfying weight in his hand. He leaned down close. “It's just not something a good boy would do.” 

Ardyn moaned out loud, and turned his head so his hair whapped on the pillow.

Prompto pushed him real hard this time. Actually, he went a second longer than he thought Ardyn would be able to hold back, but he managed it. When Prompto pulled the stroker away he lay there and panted for a while. Prompto thought he'd be nice and let him rest a little. 

“Roll,” Ardyn said hoarsely. 

Prompto set the die in his hand, where the palm had little crescent marks from his nails. His hand tilted and the die went _tock_. 

“Would you look at that.”

Prompto caught Ardyn's straining eyes, and smiled. 

“Twenty.” 

With him naked and stretched out, you could see it all over when he shivered. 

Prompto set the stroker away and gave him a companionable smack on the hip. “Here's another choice for you: I bet you really want your prize now, and you earned it! Buuuut, if you wait a minute, you could probably last longer. So it's up to you to say when.” 

“As you say.” 

Ardyn tried to catch his breath for a minute, with his eyes half open and his cock standing up between his legs. Prompto made a big deal out of licking his lips while he waited, just to be a jerk and to hear him laugh. 

“Oh, I can wait no longer.” Ardyn stretched in his bonds and spread his legs out. “It must be now.” 

“Kay.” 

Prompto hopped up onto the bed between his legs. It wasn't anything scary. He was in total control, like always, how they'd agreed. Though it'd been forever since he'd done this and he probably wasn't any good, Ardyn still moaned and melted when his lips went around his cock. 

Like they said, it was kind of like riding a bicycle, except one where you had to be careful about your teeth and your gag reflex. It was funny the noises he could get out of him just by swiping his tongue around. His dick was pretty nice, like, objectively speaking. As dicks went. Prompto balanced himself by putting one hand on Ardyn's thigh, and felt it tremble. 

He knew the signs real well, and was just figuring that Ardyn had changed his mind about going all the way when he heard the bitten out, “Stop, little master.” 

Prompto let the cock fall out of his mouth and sat up, putting his hands around and pumping it instead. That was in the rules, too. Ardyn had made a big deal about how coming in his mouth would be too dirty, like dirty'd ever bothered him before, so Prompto just let his dick slide through his hands, and watched his eyelids flutter. 

“Attaboy,” Prompto said, while he worked. “That's right. That's a good boy.” 

It was different when he let it happen. Open hands instead of clenched ones. His lips parting instead of getting bit. His voice going rounder and deeper. 

When his hips bucked up and he came it got all over Prompto's hands, but Prompto didn't mind. He wasn't the one who was going to have to lick it up. 

But not right away. Prompto wasn't- okay, yeah, he was mean, but the kind of mean that knew when to pull it back a little and let a guy have a break. 

“Man, you're real persistent. It's kinda amazing. I bet you were seriously going to keep rolling no matter what. It could've taken way longer to get a good roll, y'know.” 

Ardyn looked at him, his hair all in his eyes, looking wrecked and satisfied. “I am a lucky man.”

* * *

The truck lurched over the dirt road. Ardyn, among the people, tools, and sacks of mulch in the back, removed the straw hat Prompto had bought him and turned his face toward the sun. The wind carried a lingering hint of chill and the scent of the greening land, and made Ardyn's hair fly to the side. It had grown long enough to keep tied in a tail. From time to time he snuck a glance at where Prompto was telling a story to an older fellow, gesturing in broad swoops of his mobile hands. 

They disembarked in Cleigne, took up tools and burlap sacks of seeds, and set to work. The flick of the wrist to scatter them evenly returned to Ardyn's muscles with barely a heed to the gulf of several hundred years. Twisting his torso made his chest twinge and recent memory warm him. 

His little master had kept to habits of provision that were no longer needed, picking up sources of light here and there without thought. He had not noticed until he found that the hall closet held quite a stockpile of candles. He had put them to use dripping hot wax on Ardyn's bare skin, with a generous extra portion each time he twitched, until it was difficult to tell what splattered across Ardyn's stomach was wax and what was the evidence of his enjoyment. 

_“Dang, I lost count. You all tapped out?”_

_“I fear so,” Ardyn said with short breath, his thighs trembling. The admission was reluctant. It was too soon to be untied. “Even this unnatural body's vigor has its limits.”_

_“Oh well. But wow dude, you're a mess.”_

_Prompto's idle fingers ran across the hills of hardened wax and through the wetness that clung to him. For Prompto, the true perversity was the waste of candles. Ardyn's eyes began to drift shut, then opened widely as Prompto lifted his hand, and his heartbeat quickened anew._

_“Huh,” Prompto said, regarding his fingertips, and certainly he wasn't going to--_

_His tongue darted out and swiped over the pad of his index finger, and Ardyn moaned aloud._

_“Not so bad. Here, you clean up the rest.” So saying, he placed the rest of his fingers in Ardyn's mouth, where he sucked the bitterness away with devotion._

_Prompto's eyes flicked downwards, and his lips twitched up. “Hey, I thought you said you couldn't go anymore.”_

_Ardyn lapped at the bend of his fingers. “Then I must be soundly punished for lying.”_

Ardyn turned at the end of the field and found himself humming a centuries-forgotten song. The score of them paced the rows, returners to a habit that had once been universal. Ardyn was perhaps the only one of them who had ever reaped a harvest. 

As night fell, Prompto made his sole concession to the deference due him and took a place in the farmhouse away from the scent of the campfire and the open stars. Ardyn remained with the others around the fire, worn from labor, and took his nip from the bottle as it passed him. 

“Fuck spring,” sighed a sinewy man who had been an accountant, back before the old world's end. “Just took care of some pipes that burst and then I gotta come out here and do this.” 

“Autumn brings the real work,” Ardyn said. 

“Then fuck autumn too.” 

“Aw, quit complaining and pass that over.” Junia took the bottle from his hand. “They say the Fierce used to pull a plow himself.” 

“Sure he did. They say all kindsa crap about the old kings.” 

“It's too bad that nobody really knows,” said a woman on Junia's other side. “Prompto was saying he'd wanted to put something together about the True King's line, y'know, who they were as people. But all that's been lost over the years.”

“Such a pity,” Ardyn said. 

The fire burnt low. Ardyn kept a shirt on to hide the collar, though were he permitted he would proudly display his little master's mark. He lay in his bedroll ( _”You know people just call them sleeping bags now, right?”_ ), with the warmth of liquor in his stomach, the unforgiving ground beneath his sore body, and the cold sky above. He closed his eyes and listened to the insects and to his companions' snores.

The old healer was as happy as he had ever been.


	20. Chapter 20

It felt good to be back home in town. Prompto hadn't realized that sleeping next to Ardyn was habit until it had felt weird not to.

It was funny, how things were with him. Sometimes they were just like people who had seen the same movie. It was double weird to realize he'd known him like this longer than he'd ever known the old, free, evil Ardyn. There were times he almost forgot he'd ever met that one, like when this one was next to him in the back of a truck rattling over streets they'd repaved, murmuring in his ear that this place was a fishmonger once, and that was a weaver, and that square used to have a fountain. 

They were on the way to work around the Citadel. Ignis had asked Prompto if he could handle that. Prompto had said yeah, and then realized it must be true when Ignis believed him.

They stopped and got out at the square people were starting to call the King's Plaza. Prompto set out the day's jobs while his friend stood up there looking out for him. He slung a sack of tools over his shoulder and headed with his group past a big locked door, down some cold and damp stairs, and into the tunnels. 

They hadn't really decided what to do about the Citadel yet. Everybody agreed it would feel wrong to try to use it again, but they couldn't exactly let it fall down, either. So for now they were going to check out the underground parts and shore things up, make sure nothing was crumbling. At least he knew that the elevators were working. Elevators were weird things. Sometimes while you were riding up, when it felt too short and like forever at the same time, you started thinking that when it stopped the doors would open up somewhere totally different, where Noct could stay. 

At the time Prompto couldn't imagine Ardyn doing maintenance like a handyman. Now it was pretty easy to picture; him swinging down an elevator shaft with a toolkit, humming. Sometimes Ardyn being there on the wrong side that day didn't mean as much as the fact that he was there. 

“Ah,” Ardyn said, when the lights clicked and buzzed and flickered on down in the stone-walled tunnels, “the catacombs.” 

“Is that like a basement?” Prompto smiled weakly against the creepiness of the place. He had his gun strapped on in case they ran into any beasts holed up down here, but the emptiness was eerie enough. Somewhere far off, water dripped. 

“Yes, but more royal.” 

Ardyn went off with the group that went down the left corridor, and Prompto went right. It'd been a dungeon once, so long ago that the only proof left was some smears of rust on the stone where iron doors had been. Then it'd ended up sort of being the place where the Citadel put all the stuff it didn't know what to do with, like a royal junk drawer. And then mostly forgotten. Walking through these halls, hearing your footsteps echo, looking into a room and having a pile of halberds fall on you, it all made you start to realize how little idea you had of just how long two thousand years was. 

It looked like the daemons had left the place well enough alone. The enemies here were good old water and time. They all got to work repairing the damage, and soon the place was full of the familiar clanks and clonks of construction. Like usual, Prompto got pretty absorbed in what he was doing. It felt good being a part of a team, putting things back together, making progress he could see and feel. He'd spent so long and worked so hard at trying not to think about things like Noct and the Citadel that being there and facing it was, weirdly, a relief. 

“Hey Prompto,” a guy said, coming up while they were in a circle talking about how serious the cracks in this wall were, “we found something you should see.” 

“Thanks, Hector.” Prompto finished up and followed him down the hall, under the lines of bare bulbs. He saw some people he knew plinking around, though Ardyn wasn't around anywhere.

The place Hector showed him to was an opening in a wall. Not a door, but one where the stones had been pulled away with crowbars and piled to the side. 

“Somebody tapping around noticed that part sounded hollow. Donks where it should've been a thunk. There was a hole, too, bout the size of a silver crown. So we opened it up for a look.” 

“Really hope that wasn't a breathing hole for a big freaky monster, buddy,” Prompto said, definitely mostly joking. 

Hector shook his head. He was the kind of guy who let definitely mostly jokes go. It was pretty funny to see him around Ardyn, with Ardyn doing his guy-on-stage-trying-to-sell-you-something act and him just going _yep_ or _nope_. “Nope. Just this thing.” 

Prompto ducked into the rough hole and looked around. It was a space like a prison cell, small enough that just the three other people in there made it full. The only light was a Coleman lantern on the ground near where Callista was kneeling, monochroming her and the thing she was looking at.

At first glance Prompto's heart jolted, but a closer look told him it was a suit of armor, not a body. A weird one with horns and curly things coming off the top of it, the helmet off and a little distance away, familiar in a way that made his bones shiver before his brain got the message, because once not that long ago it had tried to kill him. 

“It's the Mystic,” he said. 

“His armor,” Callista said. She reached out and took something that was spilling from the breastplate's open neck. “It was supposed to be lost. All of these things. Look, it's full. Letters, jewelry, little...human things.” 

She held her hand up with a figurine of a rabbit rested in the palm. Prompto should know the mark of the Clever. In the back of a drawer, hidden and never quite forgotten about, he had a talisman with the same thing. 

Behind the armor, half lost in the shadows, there were two chains laying on the stone. Prompto's eyes ran back and forth over them. “It was just lying on the floor?” 

“That's the weird thing,” said Callista. “It was hung up by the wrists.” 

The game of the world went laggy. The visual feed of the black and white room had frames missing. He could not quite breathe.

Prompto gave himself the command, but it was long time before his mouth said, “Who did you say found this place?” 

“Martello, right?” Hector said.

The guy looking down at the helmet shook his head. “I broke it open, but I wasn't the one who noticed.” 

“Who did?” Prompto's lips were numb. 

“That one guy.” His thoughtless gesture made wild black shadows wheel on the ceiling. “The big Nif you're always around.” 

Prompto's eyes wouldn't move from the huge shape on the floor. Huge and hollow. “Get out of here.” 

“Hm?” said Hector.

“ _Get out of here now!_ ” Prompto's shout cracked off the ceiling. “Evacuate the whole area! That's an order!” 

They'd been hunters during the night. They knew to listen and to get up and running, before Prompto's sin of letting his guard down could catch up with them all. They ran, boots thudding and shadows strobing, out into the tunnels and away from the armor and whatever was inside. Prompto heard the voices echo down the halls with the clangs of dropped tools, and rapid footsteps fading far away. 

He'd never tried using the thing on his hand from a distance before. He slammed his will into it until the outline glowed through his glove. 

“Ardyn. Come here.” 

The geas must have pulled hard. Within seconds Ardyn was there ducking through the doorway, playing wide-eyed, playing dumb. 

“Little master? I heard the alarm-” 

“What did you do?” Prompto snarled, pouring pressure into the thing the gods had given him. “Tell the truth, _now!_ ” 

It must've hit Ardyn like a mallet between the eyes. He staggered back and caught himself on the wall, and his voice came out herky-jerky, like a grunt from being punched in the stomach. “I led them to this place.” 

“Why?” Not good enough. Prompto didn't let up. 

“To let that be discovered.” His eyes jerked over to the armor on the floor, trying to break Prompto's concentration.

“Yeah?” Prompto's nails dug into his palm. “What's inside?” 

A bomb would be easy to slip past the collar's control. Just one wire touching another, a few things mixed together. Not hurting anybody. Not yet.

“The past,” Ardyn gasped. “Nothing more.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” 

“Trinkets! Curios!” His hands were at his own neck, at the collar. 

“Explosives. Poison powder.” 

“Harmless mementos! They removed me, so I— repaid the favor, best I could— thought it amusing to hide beneath their noses—”

“Then why get it found now?” 

“No point anymore. You've put me back in history...” 

Prompto bore down on the spell. Even when he had all the cards it felt like Ardyn was playing him. He could feel him resisting and dodging. Ardyn hated the Lucian kings. He would never do anything nice for them, not without a motive. “Why?”

Ardyn's eyes winced shut and he hissed between his teeth. “I thought you— would like to see— Noct's family remembered in their humanity—”

“ _Why_?” 

Ardyn's head snapped back against the stone wall and he cried out, “I thought it would make you happy!” 

The urgent fear rolling through Prompto's body turned into a sourer, sicker dread. How had he twisted what he really felt into that, and done it smooth enough to fool the geas? What did he really mean?

“What the hell do you care if I'm happy?!” The space was too small for the frantic edge in Prompto's voice. 

“The better your mood the more you toy with me!” 

Prompto stared into Ardyn's white-rimmed eyes. The lantern light made his shadow spread out beside him on the wall. 

Slowly Prompto slacked off on the geas and breathed deep. 

When the grip lifted Ardyn sank to the floor, leaning against the wall with his legs out. 

“It matters little now that they be more fully known,” Ardyn said, in his ordinary voice. He ran his hand over one of the spiky things on the Mystic's armor. “A small price to pay to encourage you to indulge my hunger.” 

“Oh.” Okay, now Prompto felt kind of ridiculous for overreacting. His hand fell open, sore from clenching so hard. A sheepish smile hovered over his lips. “Is that all?” 

Maybe it was an aftereffect of the geas, or it hadn't quite let go yet. Or maybe Ardyn could let his guard down, too. Maybe both, and if it hadn't been for that little thing, none of what came afterwards would ever have happened.

The two of them might have gone on forever as they were if Ardyn hadn't said, “No.” 

As soon as the word was out, horror painted itself over his face. 

Fight or flight mode turned back on like a switch. Prompto was in a cell with the Founder King's armor on the ground like a beetle shell and Ardyn there, and everything was wrong. 

“What are you talking about?” Prompto said, not wanting to know and needing to, turning the geas steadily on him like a searchlight. 

“Nothing,” Ardyn said, but the spell wouldn't let him lie. “Of consequence.” 

“You're hiding something from me.” 

Ardyn shook his head, long ponytail slashing back and forth. His eyes were wide, scared-looking. “Yes.” 

It wasn't really a surprise. It was like turning around in a nightmare and finding exactly what you knew was there all along. 

He'd slept in his bed. Held him, let him cry, let him hit him. Told him stories about the two thousand years he'd spend waiting, laughing all the while about how Prompto never noticed that that meant a few months was nothing when it came to biding his time. 

“Tell me,” Prompto said shakily. “Tell me the truth.” 

No blackness in Ardyn's eyes this time but his face was paper white. “Little master-” 

“Don't call me that! Tell me!” 

The compulsion was on him like a blowtorch. Ardyn had his teeth clenched against it, his breath hissing in and out. “It is something— that will do you no harm to ignore, I swear it, and only pain to know. Please.” 

He said that, and he had to know that it took away any chance of ever leaving it alone. The dread in Prompto turned into a system of solid bars holding him up in his skeleton's place. 

“Tell me what you're hiding.” The glow from the mark on his hand seeped up into the dark.

“Something you already know.” 

He was putting everything he had into resisting, Prompto could feel it, and he still shouldn't have been able to. Something was in the way. 

He wouldn't have realized if it weren't for the way the white light made everything look frozen as a photograph, and if it hadn't been for the motion of the drip of blood that ran down Ardyn's wrist from where he was gripping the sharp projection on the Mystic's armor. 

Prompto kicked his hand away. He cried out in that old familiar voice, and Prompto did know. He did. 

“Yeah,” he said, all the yell suddenly gone from his voice. “I know.” 

There was a strange stricken look on Ardyn's face, like hope. 

He'd tried to ignore it so long, never looking straight at the fact. It was one of those things that drifted around in the gray lost space just outside of sleep. The knowledge that the worst had always been true wrapped around him, thick and calm. 

Prompto said, “Get on your knees.” 

He didn't need the compulsion for that, so he let it go loose. Ardyn rose up, looking at him. Ardyn was wearing the kind of clothes he liked to do dirty work in, with a windbreaker that zipped up past his neck. Prompto had laughed and said he looked like a gym teacher, once. 

The gun barrel resting on his forehead didn't seem to surprise him. Prompto kept his finger straight, because one of the things pounded right down into the base of his brain was trigger discipline.

“It's always been pretty obvious.” Prompto's voice was light and normal, like they were talking in front of the old stuff on TV. “You've gone along with this way too easy. There had to be a reason you act nice and let me do what I do to you. You must've always been thinking about something that made you really happy. I didn't want to deal with it, so I fooled myself into thinking I didn't see.” 

He blinked fast. The light was making his eyes water. Ardyn was just listening, tall even on his knees. 

“That collar can't hold you forever.” 

Ardyn's head pulled back. The gun followed. “Prompto-”

He kept his arm held straight and steady. It was easy. “You're too sneaky and too smart, and for you, years is nothing to wait. The more I hurt you the happier you are, because one day you're gonna break free and make me pay. Everything I've done to you, you're gonna do to me worse.” 

Ardyn's face went slack with shock that he'd figured it out. “What?” 

“Revenge is your whole thing, right? Sooner or later, you're gonna find a way to kill me.” 

His face was older than it had been back then, and he could make himself look so sad. “Is that such a comfort to you?” 

“Dude, dying's not great, but do you think I'm scared?” Wetness was running down Prompto's face in two lines. “You'd just be sending me home to Noct. But I can't let you, cause even if you promise, you won't stop with me.” 

He could see it so clear it was more like something in the past than in the future. Him with his hands tied above him and his sticky blood soaking into the bed, and Ardyn smiling when he leaned in to whisper, _I lied, little master. Your friends are next._

The gun grip was warming up in his hand. Ardyn didn't even try to say anything. Just stared at him. Just for once, Prompto had made him be quiet. 

“I know it, but I want to hear you say it.” Sudden as a sniper shot, Prompto snapped the geas on with all he had. “Tell me what you're hiding.” 

And now, all that force rolled right over Ardyn without resistance. He stared up in the cold light. 

“I could not raise a hand to you,” he said. “I love you.” 

Silence closed over the cell.

It took two tries to get the gun in the holster. Prompto's heel nearly slipped on the uneven stone. 

He turned and ran.

* * *

“Wait,” Ardyn said, but he was already gone. 

For some time he remained there on his knees, alone with the memory of Prompto's horror. Fighting the bond had sapped him hollow. 

“I hope you realize,” he said to Somnus's supine shape, “that this is all your fault.” 

It had been meant as a gift. A windfall of history to commemorate the last king's line. He had thought the tale would travel more slowly, the spoils would be taken somewhere less ominous, and that at the end of the day he would be greeted by Prompto bounding up bright-eyed with a _guess what we found._ Perhaps he had lost his talent for intrigue. 

He could close his eyes a moment and sleep here beside his brother. When he woke all would be back as it had been, working at Prompto's behest, waking by his side, and living in the shelter of the necessary lie. 

The trick of cutting his hand had been clever in the moment. Now it only stung. 

He attempted and failed to be maudlin enough to wish he had been shot before the truth could be pulled from his lips. Martyrdom, too, was now beyond him. He had not even the ability to regret the confession. 

Ardyn had warped into this room many times throughout the years to deposit a bit of history down Somnus's gullet. Some lay removed, where they had been gazed at with wonder by his compatriots before the disaster struck. He considered bleeding on the Wanderer's handkerchief.

He decided on a bit of burlap sack instead. That, like so many mortal things, was fickler than it had any right to be. In the end he used the sharp edge of a spade to saw loose a strip, the effort of which made an absurd and gruesome mess. The result was a band of coarse fabric wrapped about his hand, marked with streaks of blood and slightly darkened spots where he had wept. 

There was one place for him to return to. 

He walked the empty catacombs in no hurry, and emerged into the spring sun. Light took a moment to adjust to now, with the mortal mechanism of a squint. The warm breeze rubbed against his cheek like an affectionate cat. It smelled of the growing things that were forcing their way up through the cracks he and his cadre had left in the pavement, when they were in madness and alone. The blueness of the sky, the solemn statue of the last king. So many things to see, and none with the power to imprint themselves over the memory of Prompto's terror and pain. 

The words had been meant to remain safely encased in fantasies, where they were whispered in early morning light to a boy who would blink, saying _What? No way_ , and with a slow and wondering smile, _That's so weird._. There would be no more waking beside him now. Perhaps no more waking. 

Ardyn made his way around the bulk to the Citadel, to the garden of the gods where he had first been granted this revenant life. To the beginning after the end, where he had first knelt in the frost and gasped in mortal air. Trees clustered thick and green about the altar but did not shut out everything, from this distance. Not the voice that could only be his, or the chill that could only be hers. 

“Take it back,” Prompto was saying as Ardyn placed his hand on the trunk of a tree, in a desperate voice that made him ache to hear. “Whatever you did to him. The spell you put— the love thing— nobody deserves that.” 

The answer Ardyn never knew, pressing through the hedges as he was. An appropriately ignominious entrance, to take his final stage with leaves caught in his hair. 

He emerged into the clearing, the frosted grass crackling under his step. There was a ring of six stone altars, ancient already when he and Somnus were set to the task of clearing weeds from their bases when they were boys. Prompto stood at the center, back to him and facing the Glacian in her servant's guise, rejecting him and defending him at once. How beautiful he was in dusty coveralls, impassioned in the face of a god. 

“I thought you,” Ardyn said, “a poor judge of jailer.” 

Prompto whirled and Ardyn kept his gaze past him, to avoid the look of fear. The Glacian, in her messenger's guise, wore only bland serenity. 

With slow steps he drew closer into the altar's ring. 

“The Shield, of course, you would eschew. He would be far too easy to goad into killing me and cutting my sentence short. The adviser, now. If he put his fine mind to it, he would have a great talent at making me suffer. The obvious choice.” 

He felt Prompto there near him, and kept his eyes fixed on the impassive mock-human face. 

“And yet you gave me to him. The kindhearted one, least suited to mastery, with the least stomach for cruelty. I wondered why, as I wondered at the foolishness of the entire exercise of punishment. I who had walked the star for ages, what suffering could there be that I had not tasted? What indignity could be inflicted upon me that I had not already endured?” 

Her hands were folded at her waist, her expression unmoving. The chief act of the gods was to grant one rope. He wished to wake with his head resting on Prompto's knees, Prompto's fingers combing through his hair. His hand ached. 

“You knew I would come to love him. And he, knowing me for who I am, would despise me in return.” 

Behind him Prompto made a choked sound that wrenched this raw heart they had placed inside him. 

“Something I had not imagined possible,” Ardyn said, in soft wonderment. “A fresh pain.” 

The Glacian said, “It was never a punishment.” 

“Not one he ever deserved.” Despite it all, it pleased Ardyn to face a god down one more time, shivering and fragile thing that he may be. “And so I ask you.” 

As breath came to his lips, he knew what he had to demand. There was one way to repair this. 

He thought of a line of flame licking along the black edge of a photograph, devouring him. 

“Free him. Erase me from his memory.” 

He breathed in frigid air and waited to be gone. A bit of maudlin nobility, at last. 

It was not the Glacian who said, “No.” 

It was impossible to look at Prompto without being struck with the urge to take him in his arms. His eyes were reddened, his fist clenched, though the gods' mark there did not burn. He looked vivid against the Glacian's pale frost. 

“I don't want to forget you.” 

What simple words, to strike Ardyn so. 

“You're part of Noct's story. And mine, too.” 

“I don't want to forget you.” 

What simple words, to strike Ardyn so. 

“You're part of Noct's story. And mine, too.” 

Ardyn found it difficult to coax words from his throat. The chill of the air lingered on his lips. “I have given you only pain.” 

“That's not true. At the beginning, I kept wanting to give up and break down... but I couldn't. Not with you watching.” He looked quite regal with his back so straight. A tremulous smile passed over his lips. “Spite, like you said, right?”

“A powerful force,” Ardyn whispered. 

“And you didn't let me catch that you were doing it on purpose. Still a healer, after everything.” 

An old pride stirred in him like shoots from a withered lotus seed. “I never could turn away a patient.” 

“That I could kind of get. But then... the... It could be some kind of spell, couldn't it?” It cut like the cold to see that he still had hope. “Something they put on you without even you knowing.” 

“I am afraid not. I know.” Ardyn knew it in every press of hot blood from his new and unruly heart. It had settled on his skin, where it made itself known in every motion. 

“But then you...” Prompto pulled his lower lip through his teeth. Something pleading entered his voice. “You said it wasn't real. You said you were playing it up.” 

“Oh, my dear...” _little master_ , he sought to say, but the order would not allow him that. “I claimed misrepresentation.” Against his will, his eyes tightly closed. “I have been quite significantly playing it down.” 

He could wish not to have heard the sharp intake of breath that provoked. 

It had been a sound like that in a chill like this, on that day when Ardyn had attacked him on the tundra, in an age when someone else's fear had meant as little to him as the cold. The shock on Prompto's face had been delightful, at the time. It had all been such a grand joke. 

“It hasn't been a game for a long time, has it,” Prompto said, his voice resigned and thick with unshed tears. The fantasy of death and suffering had been easier for him to face than this. 

Ardyn owed it to him to look at him. Ah. Not unshed, then. “No. It has not.” 

“So you...you really...” 

“I do,” Ardyn said softly. 

“How _can_ you?” Prompto burst out. “I'm so mean to you!” 

“The world holds many kindnesses,” Ardyn said, “not so sweet as your attempts at cruelty.” 

Prompto was shaking, too thinly clad for this circle of unnatural cold. The sweet, faithful little gunman. How Ardyn had loathed his loyalty. 

“I don't know what to do,” Prompto confessed, lost and bewildered, to an Ardyn who could not, this time, pluck him from the tundra. 

It was a fine trick of the gods to make Ardyn experience absurd devotion from the other side. 

The Glacian's voice, not raised, pierced like the silence of a frozen morning. “You have a choice. His task is finished. If you so wish, I can offer him rest.” 

Prompto, in a surprise that made Ardyn's heart threaten to burst, turned on her in anger. “You'll kill him? That what he gets for doing what you want?”

The Glacian's hands remained still and folded over the stomach of her gown. “To end in peace would be his reward.” 

Once, a woodcutter had been brought to him near frozen through, fingers and toes gone black. As Ardyn's power had eased color into her extremities and she woke enough to be lucid, she told him with a faint wonderment that after years of terror of the killing blizzards, when death by winter came for her in truth, she had felt only warm. His cut hand had already grown anesthetized. 

“That's horrible,” Prompto said, stepping back. Frost crackled beneath his boot. He left a footprint where he had stood, a stamp of bare grass in a field that sparkled white in the sun.

“Oblivion,” Ardyn said, with a gentleness that felt foreign to his own voice, “holds no horror for me.” 

“Is that what you want?” Sorrow twisted Prompto's face, and Ardyn flattered himself to think it was for him. 

“There are things I would rather have.” 

“I can't promise you anything.” Prompto's throat jumped when he swallowed. His face could only carry raw honesty. “I don't know if I can ever give that back. I don't know if I'll ever even hate you less.” 

Ardyn said, “I know.” 

He had thought himself long incapable of such a clean and precious agony. 

Two tracks shone on Prompto's face where the moisture had frozen. His voice gained in resolve. “But I won't let it be my job to torture you for fun. Tell me. No gods, no magic, no way it's supposed to be.”

He faced Ardyn, bright as the sun, for all the world as if the Frostbearer were forgotten, and Ardyn was so very proud. When he flexed his hand the sting came afresh. 

Prompto said, “What do you want?” 

“If the choice is mine,” Ardyn said, taking Prompto's palm and pressing it to his cheek where it lay cold and welcome, “I would stay with you, and savor this pain.” 

For some time Ardyn felt Prompto's hand growing slowly warmer against his face. The calluses of weapons had faded and been replaced by the marks of tools. 

“Noct was the love of my life,” Prompto said. He took a quick, harsh breath, as one did when sobs had not quite finished. “You won't ever replace him.” 

“I would not wish to.” He had had enough of wearing another's face. 

The eyes of the Glacian were on them, palpable as the bite in the stirring air. A word would send Ardyn into the peace of eternal sleep that he had sought so long, and he would not regret it, now with his heart spoken and bare before the frost. He would go happily, having acquired all he could want. And yet between him and the void, he wished there to be one more night at Prompto's kitchen table, with the crickets at the window that were struck silent every time Ardyn made him laugh. 

Should he pass now from this world, those moments would stay in Prompto's memory. The men and women he had labored beside would know him, and the stack of photographs bearing his image would remain. The young historian would keep a mind full of his stories and a mechanism full of his voice. What had he to be afraid of?

Only the people he would never see again. 

“Okay,” Prompto said, and it burst over him like sunlight. “Come home.” 

Ardyn closed his eyes and kissed his palm.

“Gentiana,” he heard Prompto say, with a steadiness that wrung his heart with pride. “Just let him be human, okay? Let him be alive.” 

“If that is what you wish, so shall it be.” The Glacian's voice was clean as fresh snow. A wonder, that one among the gods was capable of mercy. “His life is yours.” 

When her last word faded, the bite in the air was gone. Ardyn opened his eyes. He let Prompto's hand fall from his face, but kept a loose grasp as he gazed at what had become a field of sylleblossoms, red as they had been when he was young. For a moment they shone as though dusted with diamonds, until the last of her frost was melted by the warmth of spring. The Glacian was gone, and they were left there as two men. 

Prompto was still shivering and blinking away the remnants of his tears. His lips moved in an unsure smile. “You know sticking around being mine just means you'll still be, like, fixing potholes and broken windows and stuff, right?” 

“I shall toil gladly.” Ardyn unzipped his jacket and placed it around Prompto's shoulders. It was large on him, draping like the cloak of a traveler setting out on a journey to undiscovered lands. 

They stepped through sylleblossoms that whispered against their calves. The open truth between them made Ardyn feel bare and awakened, as though fresh from bathing in an icy stream. 

“Oh, you can say whatever you want.” The wave of Prompto's arm was not necessary to dispel the binding, but was a touch of flair that Ardyn appreciated. 

“I love you, little master,” he said, feeling the weight of the words on his tongue. 

Prompto placed a hand on his forearm to steady himself. “I know.”


	21. Chapter 21

Prompto had no idea how much energy he'd been putting into ignoring it until he stopped. 

It was in the toast Ardyn handed him in the morning, a little bit black how he liked it, and in the way he read out interesting bits from the smearily-printed paper in his goofy accent that made a bulletin about somebody finally getting all of the sahagins out of that public swimming pool sound fancy. It was in how he also turned the lights out when he went out of a room, because it still itched at Prompto's meteorshard-saving habits when they got left on. It was in every word he said to him and had been for a long, long time.

The sun kept coming up. Life went on. Ardyn loved him. 

The strangest thing was that it was a relief. It was kind of peaceful, just having him around. Prompto didn't know what to do about it, and maybe he didn't have to do anything. He could've use a long time to mull it over and figure out where they went from here. 

Just like always, ever since the sun went down, life didn't give him the time to do that. It was only a couple days later that he woke up with Ardyn's arms around him and rain pouring down the window like it was coming from an open faucet. 

“Aw crap,” he mumbled into Ardyn's chest, and then the phone rang. 

Iggy made it quick, but the gist was all hands on deck. They were getting the answer to how bad the first serious hard rain was going to be now that the plants that'd been holding down the soil were scraggly from ten years of eking their lives out eating elemancy instead of sunlight, and the answer was: bad. Fifteen minutes later Prompto and Ardyn were both pulling on plastic ponchos and heading out into the pouring rain. 

So all that dramatic stuff about staying here and being human meant standing in what'd once been an auto garage, filling up sandbags and passing them out into the line. It was amazing how fast everybody got organized with Ignis everywhere at once calling the shots. (Did he know? Prompto hardly ever talked about Ardyn to him, but he was the kind of guy who could read as much from what you didn't say as what you did.) Gladio was around, too, hauling more full sacks at once than you'd think a human could handle. 

Now Prompto could see how other people acted with Ardyn, too. People who didn't know who he'd been. Prompto had been the only one who saw him as anything other than a normal person – a quirky one, but people who hadn't gotten some funny habits over the ten-year night were few and far between. He was a part of their crew, and people liked him. Just another worker in the line, opening bags for Prompto to put a shovelful of sand in and passing them along. 

“We have a problem,” Ignis murmured in his don't-alarm-anybody-but-we-need-to-talk voice. 

That meant finding his way over to behind a wall of tires where there was some insulation from the noise of everybody else hard at work. No slowing down in what he was doing, though. Even here trails of water trickled over the cement floor. Scoop up sand, tip it into the bag in Ardyn's hands, get another. 

“The waters are rising too quickly,” Ignis said. “The city is at risk.” 

“It can't be that bad,” Prompto said, fighting a jolt of useless freaking out. You felt that, ignored it, and dealt with the problem. He'd gotten used to doing that. Scoop, tip, turn. “It used to rain like this every spring, remember?” 

Gladio shoved a bucket of sand toward him. “Yeah, and it never got this deep this fast. You gotta wade across the street already. We need to start evacuating.” 

Prompto froze half bent over, hands tight on the shovel handle. “Just abandon the whole city?” 

“Yeah, and we'd better start fast. It's not gonna happen quick. The sun came up a little less than a year ago – you have any idea how many people we got with tiny babies?” 

Prompto paused and tried to guess. 

Gladio said, “A _lot_.” 

Families struggling out in the drenching rain, with the waters rising higher and higher. Leaving behind who knows how much of everything they'd been working on so hard for months to get swept away all over again. 

“It's likely there's an issue with the drainage system,” said Ignis. “But unless there's someone on hand who happens to know its workings-” 

Ardyn looked up from stacking sandbags on a cart and said, “I do.”

* * *

“Storm drains, not sewers,” Ardyn corrected from somewhere down the ladder, his voice echoing up eerily through the shaft.

Being in the quiet and out of the rain was a relief for about twenty seconds before the creepiness of climbing down a ladder in the dark sunk in. All Prompto had was the light clipped to his shirt that bobbed over each rusty rung. 

When his boots hit solid ground, Gladio and Ardyn were there waiting. Ignis came next. The place was surprisingly wide and just smelled like water. It was all made of stone, and the chill would've sunk right into Prompto even if he hadn't already been soaked. No lights but the little flashlights. He turned to angle the beam around and saw the channel of water in the middle running high and fast. He didn't have much time to look, since Ardyn set out at a quick clip.

“How do you know about this, anyway?” Gladio said as they went after him. It wasn't easy with how the cobbles were uneven and all slick, with rivulets of water running all along.

“Why, I should know a place I've lived. I slipped down here during a particularly dull century and had myself a good decade's skulk.” 

“Better not be leading us into any sewer monsters.” 

“Storm drain monsters,” Ardyn said.

“He won't,” Prompto said more quietly to the guys. 

“Right,” said Ignis. His cane tapped a quick rhythm over the slippery stones. “You have the gods' control.” 

“Yeah. That.” 

So even Iggy didn't know everything. Nobody'd told him that Prompto was holding the end of a much nastier leash. 

“Through here.” Ardyn's voice sounded weird mixing with the rush of water. “Here” was a metal door that creaked like a horror movie when he hauled it open. “The sluice gate controls are just a jaunt down...oh.” 

The room wasn't real big. It was just a stone box with a straight flight of stairs in the middle that went down like they were going into a dungeon.

“What is it?” Ignis said. 

Prompto swallowed. He'd spent ten years in the dark. It didn't scare him half as much as logistics. All those people with tiny babies, wading out while the city got washed away. “We're too late. The water's up the stairs.” 

It was like a pond there in the middle of the room, with little streams of water feeding down into it from a few different directions. 

Ignis didn't swear, or yell, or even look upset. He never wasted time doing that. He asked Ardyn, “How far away are the controls?” 

“Just in the next room.” 

“Scuba gear.” Prompto stared down at the black water. “We've gotta have some somewhere.” 

Gladio said, “There's no time. Conditions are only gonna get worse, and we don't even know if this gonna work. If it doesn't, evacuation is going to take every second we can get.” 

Ignis nodded. “All right then. I'm better in the dark than anyone.” 

Prompto's brain took a second to catch up, and his eyes went wide. “No way. We need you. If something went wrong— Look. I'll go.” 

“Like hell you will,” growled Gladio. “I'm the best swimmer here. Let me handle it.” 

A clunking sound made them all cut off arguing and look over. Ardyn was taking off his boots. 

“All a moot point, I'm afraid,” he said as he shrugged his rain jacket onto the ground. “None of you know the system's workings. In any case, I am inarguably expendable. In fact, in the eyes of several philosophies I'm sure I am counted as dead already.” 

You wouldn't know it unless you knew him. The little extra cheerful lilt his voice got when he was scared. 

“How do we know you'll really fix it?” Gladio said. 

“I could hardly make it worse.” 

There wasn't that much more talking between that and Ardyn walking down to the water's edge. 

“Really, it's not worth dramatics. It's only a lever just past that door.” He moved down a step with a soft splash. “Oh! That's cold.” 

His shirt was plastered to him, with his light stuck on it. Probably wouldn't help much but it was better than nothing. Prompto had seen him plenty more naked, but that had always been when things were under control. Everybody was looking at Prompto. There was the trickling sound of water feeding into the pool, and Ardyn looked like somebody he'd just barely met. 

“Go,” Prompto said. “Fix the thing, and come back.” 

Ardyn stared at him for a second, and his mouth moved like he was going to say something. Then he turned and dove under the water. For a second you could see his shape, or imagine it, then there was nothing but the reflections of their lights wavering on the black. It was just the three of them standing there over the still water like they'd just tossed somebody into a volcano, and Prompto was the only one who knew the geas had only been on the last two words. 

Sometimes when movies had parts with people swimming, he'd try to hold his breath along with them to see if it was possible. It almost never was. It took so long to actually get anything done. He'd felt like a dork for doing that until Noct had said he did the same thing, and they'd both tried to do it during those parts in Tomb Raider. 

Fuck, he'd hated those parts in Tomb Raider. 

How long had it been? It felt like it must have been too long. A minute? It was hard to hold your breath for a full minute, even if you weren't swimming hard and groping around for something. Suddenly Prompto had a horrible thought: what if the geas wasn't that smart? What if it worked by pulling him in a straight line? So he could be caught on a corner like a bee pinging into a windowpane when there was an open door inches away—

Prompto waited and felt himself drip on the floor. 

The water rippled. 

Ardyn burst out gasping like a landed fish. 

“Oh, drowning is terrible,” he panted, wild-eyed, grabbing the edge. “Don't ever drown.” 

Prompto grabbed for him, and he and Gladio hauled him up. He splayed out on his back on the ground, heaving for air, and Prompto stayed down there beside him on the stones while his heart nearly pounded itself into pieces with relief. 

“You did it,” he whispered to him, grabbing his shoulders and trying to warm him up. It was like touching a refrigerated soda bottle. “You saved it... I'm gonna be so mean to you. I'm gonna tie you up for _days_.” 

Ardyn laughed, then coughed. 

“Did you get it done?” Gladio said. 

Maybe the world was being kind to Ardyn's sense of drama. Right then there was a long, distant grinding noise. 

The water in the stairwell started to go down.

* * *

Cars were still pretty communal. Prompto took one home and hoped keeping the heat blowing on Ardyn would even out the wet clothes. 

“Hey, stay with me,” he said, taking a left turn carefully on the half-flooded street. The wipers were doing their best. Ardyn wasn't showing any signs of hypothermia (Prompto knew how to check for a lot of those kinds of things, now), but he didn't want him nodding off yet anyway. He reached out and squeezed a big cold hand. “Can't go to sleep before I kiss you goodnight.” 

“Ah.” Ardyn's eyes jerked open. “That would be unforgivably rude.” 

Luckily home wasn't far, so Prompto didn't have to chatter him awake for that long. They'd both dried out a little bit thanks to the heater, but just getting out of the car and getting to the door got them soaked again. 

It wasn't obvious just how unsteady Ardyn was on his feet until he nearly fell over taking off his shoes at the entrance. Prompto caught him and held him up, and he took off the other while looking as close to sheepish as his face got. 

“We used to treat chill with a stoup of wine and a tincture to the navel,” he said.

“We're all out of stoups of stuff,” said Prompto, leading him down the hall, “but I can get you a hot bath.” 

He got the water started while Ardyn pulled his clothes off. They were so wet they landed on the floor tile with a _whap_. The feeling of hot water pouring out of a tap made you proud, when you were the one who'd put the pipes in the ground. When Prompto straightened up he saw Ardyn leaning on the counter, naked and shivering. He was probably playing it up some, but-

 _No. He's not. The only one who was ever lying was you._

“C'mere,” Prompto said, taking his hand. He unwrapped the bandages from the injured one. The cut on his palm was healing clean.

Ardyn sank down into the bathtub with a sigh so deep Prompto could feel it. 

Prompto took a second to go peel off his own wet clothes. It'd never felt more heavenly to pull on a pair of clean sweatpants. Still shirtless, he stuck his head back in to ask if Ardyn wanted tea, and caught him with his eyes closed and his head lolling back on the edge of the tub. 

“Oh no you don't.” Prompto hurried in and pulled him up by the shoulders. “You're not gonna make it through two thousand years and a city-saving dive and then drown in the bathtub.” 

“Ah.” Ardyn blinked at him slowly. “I suppose...that lark took more from me than I imagined. But I must contend it was not saving the city, as such. Only sparing it inconvenience.” 

Ardyn's arms were up on the sides of the tub, and he didn't look real capable of moving much. There was a fresh bruise on his upper arm and another blob of one on his side, blurry under the water. He must have run into the walls a lot when he was trying to swim through the dark. 

“And danger to a lot of people,” Prompto said. “And all our hard work getting wrecked.” 

Prompto picked up a washcloth. Might as well, while he was here. He rubbed some soap on to get it lathery, and a sharp scent filled the room. The guy who'd been scrounging around putting makeshift soap together during the night had gotten so excited once fresh herbs were growing again that he'd given everybody he knew enough mint soap to wash an army. 

He settled down on his knees behind the tub, looking at the tangle of maroon hair on the back of Ardyn's head, and reached around to start washing his chest. The heat of the water felt nice, and so did the way Ardyn melted. 

“Oh,” Ardyn sighed, and that wasn't a lie, either. 

Prompto moved the washcloth around his chest. You couldn't really call it scrubbing, going this slow and easy. 

“You could've just not said anything,” Prompto said as it occurred to him. “None of us would've guessed there was anything anybody could do.” 

“I thought of that. As well as of returning having intentionally failed, once you granted me that choice.” His eyes flicked a question up at Prompto. 

“There was a lot of stuff that could've gone wrong.” He worked his way across to Ardyn's arm, wrapping the cloth around. “What if the thing was broken or something? I didn't want you to get stuck.” 

Then the other arm, across the muscles that came from swinging a sledgehammer, and down. He was gentle there with the injured hand. Ardyn's was giant next to his, though they had the same kind of calluses now. 

“Why, my little master.” His head fell back on the edge of the tub and he looked up at Prompto with a smile, though it was clear in his eyes that this wasn't a joke. Prompto knew that kind of hunger. “Were you worried about me?” 

Prompto wrapped his arm around his chest and held onto him a while with his elbow in the hot water and his face pressed into his hair, listening to the rain pour down on the roof. “Yeah. I was.” 

He stayed there for longer than he really meant to. It just felt kind of nice to feel him breathe and to have the company, and to stop pretending not to understand what Ardyn had meant when he'd said _I want all your suffering for myself._

After a while he got back to work, moving the washcloth underwater over Ardyn's stomach. Pretty soon he gave up any pretending that he was washing and not just exploring. There was some softness there, and that was weirdly fascinating. Prompto had always kind of thought of Ardyn's body as more like a suit of armor he was haunting, something that could get dinged up but wasn't breakable in any way that mattered. Not just a thing a man lived in. 

Ardyn shifted and murmured when Prompto put the cloth between his legs. “Mm. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is at its limits, I fear.” 

“Just relax.” 

Prompto could feel him doing that, leaning back against him. Felt like he was warming up, too. 

He moved around to work down Ardyn's legs, down to his feet. The air smelled like mint soap and felt steamy on his bare chest. He got the cloth in between Ardyn's toes, and there was a splash as his leg kicked. 

“Ticklish?” Prompto said.

“Human bodies. So fascinatingly involuntary.” 

“Still not used to it, huh.” He pressed his thumb into the arch of Ardyn's foot. Color was coming back into his skin. Funny how more water was helping, when it'd been water that messed him up in the first place. 

“I may never be.” His voice was a tired burl. “A few years is so little, in comparison. I am still stretching in the proverbial morning.” 

Right. He'd spent a long time being alive in a body that nothing mattered to. Two thousand years where it didn't feel good to drink cold water on a hot day. 

Prompto worked his way back up and tapped on Ardyn's shoulder. “Lean forward.” 

He did, with a slosh, and the ends of his long hair trailed in the water. Prompto rubbed the washcloth across his back and watched his shoulders go up and down with his slow breathing. He kind of got lost it in, just feeling his solidity. He could look and touch as much as he wanted, since Ardyn belonged to him.

“I did think of it,” Ardyn said softly. His voice reflected in a funny way from him looking down into the water. “Letting Somnus's city drown.”

Prompto pushed the collar up so he could get under it. It had enough give to move around if you were careful, and water didn't seem to hurt it. Nothing did. It was the only thing about Ardyn that was still the same as the first day he'd come back to life. Well, that and the stubble that the washcloth rasped over. 

“Yet he never laid a brick of it by his own hand. We have been the ones to pave its streets and plant its trees. It is now more ours than his, truly.” 

“Tip back,” Prompto said, and started washing his hair. It wasn't as wavy anymore since it'd gotten so long, but it still had some crinkle to it.

Ardyn kept his eyes closed while the water poured over his head. Prompto kept pouring, washing, and rinsing, and looking at how peaceful his face was. He was like that in the morning sometimes when he was still asleep, not that Prompto ever looked. If he let his eyes relax and made himself stop fighting, he could see a human. 

“So strange, a mortal body,” Ardyn murmured. “So prone to misapprehension.” 

“Sure is,” Prompto agreed, not even pretending to have any idea what he was talking about. 

“My patients have mentioned the odd phantoms of desperate moments. The ones I brought back from the brink would describe the most extraordinary things. Though they were once called visions of the other side, I later learned they were wholly physiological. Caused by lack of oxygen to the brain. Fear makes its own contribution, of course, and in poor light the eye becomes wildly inventive.” 

The shampoo made his hair slippery between Prompto's fingers. There was something centering about doing this. He wondered if he looked like Gladio did when he was taking care of his sword, or like Ignis did when he was taking care of one of them. 

“The sensation was as clear as that of groping along the wall,” Ardyn said. “I felt the ring distinctly. But I could not say which it was, first or last.” 

“Which what was?” 

Ardyn looked up at him with half-open gold eyes. “The king who placed my hand on the lever.” 

The water was lukewarm when Prompto pulled him up and guided him out onto the bathmat. It was a good thing he had a lot of experience in maneuvering Ardyn around when he was out of it. Not an easy thing to do with a guy when you didn't even come up to his chin, but it was all about leverage. He propped Ardyn up with one hand on the small of his back while he grabbed a towel, then wrapped it around and suddenly needed to hug him tight. Prompto's arms locked around him, and his face pressed into the fluffy cotton on his back. Ardyn patted his joined hands in this little normal human way that made his eyes sting. 

"It was easier to think you couldn't care about anybody," Prompto mumbled, "because if you could — if you did — that means you lost them over and over again. I wouldn't wish that on anybody." 

Ardyn's voice was a low rumble he could feel. "Even me?" 

"Even you." 

Prompto kept his promise. After he had Ardyn in bed and made sure the extra blankets were on, but before he said good night, he gave Ardyn a slow kiss that he melted up into.

"You're mine," he said, because it was a weird thing to say but Ardyn would like it, "and I'm not letting anything take you away until I'm done with you." 

Ardyn's quiet laugh mixed with the rain tapping on the roof, and Prompto curled close to keep him warm.


	22. Chapter 22

Ardyn woke slowly, rising up to consciousness through the heavy sensation of his exhausted body rewarding him for rest. He took his time in breathing in the ghost of last night's kiss before opening his eyes.

Sunlight poured in high and strong through the window. The bed was empty; Prompto would be well up by now, but had let him sleep in. The sensation of the hot bath lingered, bound up in the scent of mint and feeling of Prompto's caress on his skin. Ardyn let himself luxuriate in the soft bed and the memory, putting no effort into trying to recall what he had babbled while sunk in relief and bliss. He was watching the leaves rustle outside the window when footsteps approached.

“Oh hey, you're awake!” Prompto grasped the doorframe. “How're you feeling?” 

“Quite well.” Ardyn stretched and his back gave a gratifying crack. Perhaps he would laze about a while and rest on his laurels. 

“Good.” Prompto's smile acquired just a hint of wickedness. “Cause we've got lots to do once you're up to it.” 

Or perhaps not.

Prompto vanished, but called from down the hall, “Don't bother getting all the way dressed. You're not gonna be wearing clothes much today.” 

Thus Ardyn remained without a shirt and with a quickening heart. 

The world felt new and freshly washed. The sky was a clear blue, and but for the scent of damp earth and the marks of silt in the street outside the window, the past days' downpour could have been a dream. Proof otherwise was in the bruises on Ardyn's side. What a fickle thing flesh was. It had barely brushed mortality and come out all the greedier for each instant of life. 

Prompto fluttered about the kitchen like a hummingbird with the restlessness of his good mood. At unpredictable intervals there came a there-and-gone touch; a flick to Ardyn's nipple, a pinch to his rear. 

“Oh,” Ardyn murmured, arrested midstep by a light tug to his collar that sent a river of heat down his spine. 

“Something wrong?” Prompto was already on the other side of the counter, checking his telephone with flagrant innocence. 

“Not at all,” said Ardyn, the arousal in his blood delightfully maddening. His toes curled and gripped the tile floor. He could be patient. His little master kept his promises. “How fares our city?”

“Lots of flooded basements. Some washed out roads. Nothing we can't fix, and nobody hurt, thanks to you.” 

How odd to hear those words without the insulation of sarcasm. A tingle of satisfaction followed. _There, Somnus. I have protected it, thus it is mine._

“So, no work for a while,” Prompto went on cheerfully. “I figure you can take some time to take a break, give your body a rest...” 

There was a teasing lilt to his voice. Every slight motion of the air against Ardyn's bare chest made his skin tingle in anticipation. Did anyone else know how wonderfully devious this young man could be? “That will not be necessary. I am quite hale.” 

“Yeah?” Prompto's lips twitched, and his fingers danced on the countertop. “Ready for anything?” 

“Anything, little master.” 

Yet he was immediately given the lie. When Prompto darted toward him and placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth, he was not at all prepared. 

He might have stood there a long while, struck dumb, had Prompto not given him a look full of playful promise and said, “C'mere.”

* * *

Ardyn lay naked on the bed with his knees folded to his chest and watched Prompto rummage through a dresser drawer. He was humming to himself and making quite a show of it. Ardyn's ankles were tied together, and his arms were bound at the wrists behind his back. The pleasant tingle of the ropes was a counterpoint to the lingering heat of the kiss at the edge of his lips.

The constant undercurrent of Ardyn's affection stirred in his heart. It was no great matter that his feelings were not returned. They were known. This was enough. 

“You know I can't cook, right?” Prompto said, his bent over form giving Ardyn an excellent view of a round, inviting rear, the perfect shape to be squeezed by two fortuitously large hands, were they not both bound and far too diligent to grasp without permission. His red sweatpants said _Meldacio Athl. Dept._ across the back and _The Fightin' Flan_ down the right leg. His sleeveless shirt showed his arms to advantage, where the freckles had been dusted like a written invitation to scatter kisses.

“I am aware you've stayed your hands from the culinary arts, yes.” 

Prompto straightened up and smiled with magnificent mischief, hands held behind him.“So didja ever wonder why I bought that extra cutting board?” 

It was not quite comfortable to keep his head tilted up enough to watch rather than to let his face fall to the mattress, but Ardyn considered it worth the strain. “I hadn't presumed. But oh, I had hoped.” 

Grinning, Prompto displayed a wooden board with a convenient handle and precisely the right dimensions. Ardyn's eyes followed it avidly until Prompto vanished out of sight. 

“Get ready!” his little master's voice chirped from behind.

The impact existed by itself for a moment, an instant of cool, flat wood. The pain followed, a blunt and wide pain across the expanse of his flesh. There were so many unique and fascinating varieties. Before the sting of the first could fade another came, and another, an unrelenting rhythm that made Ardyn press his face against the sheets and moan. Soon the flurry had him yelping and jumping, his hands grasping helplessly at air. 

The heat soaked to his loins, and he lost himself in the hard, steady crescendo until he was shuddering in ecstasy, twitching into the strikes and spilling onto his own thighs.

The blows stopped. His little master's cool, blessed fingers ran down his tender skin, and Ardyn murmured delirious praise. 

“Well,” Prompto said briskly. He gave Ardyn's rear a sharp swat that made him jolt. “That's it for your warmup!” 

Ardyn was adrift in a cloud of pleasure, shot through with flashes of twinge as the trailing ends of the ropes that held his wrists brushed his sensitive rear. He was nearly untied before he realized his sin. Of course, it was then far too late to hide it.

“Okay, get your hands up.” Prompto unfolded him and repositioned him on his back before turning to the dresser. “We're gonna...” 

He paused and turned, a whip dangling from his hand. Slowly, his eyes fell to the mess on Ardyn's thighs, and he smiled. 

“You little sneaky snaga.” He shook the whip at Ardyn in chiding. “You thought I was gonna forget I didn't give you permission!” 

“Ah,” Ardyn said, and it was as much as an admission of guilt. His cheeks grew heated. “I was caught up in the maelstrom of your beauty.”

Usually Prompto ignored or give a bland _uh-huh_ to his praises. This time he laughed and said, “Sweet-talking's not gonna make me go easy on you.” 

The corner of Ardyn's lip tugged upward. “I would wish for no less.” 

“Let's see...” Prompto tossed the whip from hand to hand. “I was just gonna hit you, but now I have to be _really_ mean. Ooh. I know.” 

The wickedness of his grin made Ardyn's blood stir anew. Prompto set the whip down on the dresser and took up the ropes to fasten Ardyn's hands to the headboard. The sensation of being open and unprotected never grew less fascinating. 

“Just hold on a minute and be good.” Prompto patted him on the pectoral and left. 

Before Ardyn could be dismayed at being left bound without a toy to torment him, his little master returned, a washcloth in hand. He leaned over to begin cleaning the mess from Ardyn's stomach, and Ardyn sighed at the blissful touch. This was a man who could touch nothing without care. 

“Before you can come again,” Prompto said, as he stroked the warm, wet cloth over a soft cock that would at this rate not long remain that way, “you have to say you're sorry for being bad.” 

“I shall beg forgiveness so prettily that stones will weep at my contrition.” 

“Here's the catch – I want you to hold out until you _really_ need it. Like, super gonna die if you don't.” 

His hand pressed Ardyn's thighs open and cleaned between them. He set the towel aside, leaving the air to chill the damp places on Ardyn's body. He picked up his telephone, input something, and set it facedown on the nightside table. 

“Sending a message, little master?” Ardyn inquired. 

“Setting a timer.” He drew his nails very lightly down the inside of Ardyn's arm, raising goosebumps in their wake. “I put in how long I think you can make it. If you last that long or longer, you win.” 

Ardyn's eyes lidded. “And what happens if I fail?” 

“Oh, nothing. I'll just know you could've done better.” 

Ardyn's laugh rose up from low in his throat. “You vicious, gorgeous thing. How could I ever disappoint you?” 

Prompto only smiled and lowered his face to Ardyn's shoulder. Ardyn tensed in anticipation of the bite, and jumped bodily when it was a kiss instead.

The next was a kiss as well. A chain of them, in fact, laid in a long loop like a garland over his chest. Prompto made a figure eight about Ardyn's pectorals, now and then pausing for a light suck that left a patch of heat on his skin. He worked his way to the right nipple, where he nibbled it to hardness and sucked with greater force but again failed to administer pain. Ardyn shifted in his bonds. 

“Don't worry.” His little master kissed the point where his ribs met. “I'll get the other one too.” 

He was as good as his word. Such a fair man, lavishing the left nipple with attention as well. His endearing little beard tickled Ardyn's skin. The moment Ardyn ceased to expect it he would give a bite, of course, a lovely brutal one. Surely. 

Prompto nuzzled his face against Ardyn's side. Ardyn's breath was coming quickly. 

“You're not a bad-looking guy, you know?” His fingers slipped down the ladder of Ardyn's ribs. “I didn't see it for a while, with everything.” Thumbs, across his abdomen. “But you're not ugly.” His fingers meandered through the hair low on Ardyn's stomach. “And I kind of dig the purple pubes.” 

Ardyn released a fragment of a laugh. His body's unnatural vigor was telling once again, and his cock was stirring as his little master's intent gaze made his pulse pound with something akin to fear. “Do you mean only to pet and flatter me?” 

“You're mine,” —ah, an intriguingly violent spasm of the heart— “and I can do whatever I want. So, yeah.” He lay ticklish kisses on Ardyn's stomach as he caressed his hips, framing him in touch. “Unless you wanna say you're sorry.” 

Ardyn's eyes wandered the ceiling. “I can endure...far more.” 

Prompto set to testing that boast. It was strange to experience his touch with no pain to focus attention away from the texture of his skin. If a thousand hands were set on Ardyn's thigh in the dark one by one, he would have been able to name Prompto's by the pattern of calluses, even before his fingertips ran down the sensitive crease so near Ardyn's cock. 

A whimper escaped Ardyn's lips. 

“I'll be mean later.” The nearness to Ardyn's skin gave Prompto's voice an odd, hushed timbre. “I just wanna do this now.” 

Time slipped from Ardyn's grasp. His eyes locked onto the faint waterstains on the ceiling to prevent himself from looking down and watching Prompto intent on his work. The expected pain never came, only sensation he had far fewer defenses against. His hands clenched in their bonds and pierced his fingernails into his palms against the feeling of Prompto's lips on his thigh. 

“Hey,” his little master said softly. His hands were coaxed open, kisses placed on the palms. “None of that.” 

And then he had no defenses at all. 

Prompto laid his claim over his property as though seeing it for the first time. He was not systemic but wandered off at odd angles, kissing the inside of Ardyn's forearm, running his nails lightly along the underside of his knee, rubbing a looping chain down his calf with his thumb, until there was no inch of Ardyn's body that was not humming with his touch. 

Ardyn whispered, “Forgive me.” 

“Hm?” Prompto was sitting at the end of the bed, toying with the soles of his feet. 

“I am sorry, little master.” In need, his promised eloquence abandoned him. “For my disobedience.” 

Prompto stood, and Ardyn made an involuntary sound at being bereft of contact. He lifted the telephone on the bedside table and smiled. 

He sat close, nestled against Ardyn's side, and when a hand wrapped around Ardyn's cock he cried out and arched into his grip. 

“That's right,” his little master murmured as he battered him with euphoria. “That's a good boy.” 

“M, mm.” Ardyn's toes curled tightly enough to ache. Pleasure flooded him, waves in time with Prompto's hand. “May...” 

“Oh yeah, go ahead. Come all over.” 

The instant the tone of indulgence in his little master's voice struck him, his control shattered. His hips jerked upward and he shouted as ecstasy flung him against his bonds. Throughout was the sensation, centering as a lodestone to a compass, of Prompto stroking his stomach. 

Lazily, after, he blinked to clear his vision. Prompto was at the bedside table, humming tunelessly, lifting the telephone to look. The thought of failing his game struck Ardyn with sudden force. 

Prompto cast himself onto the bed with a jolt that made Ardyn bounce. He rarely made any move with less than exuberant vigor when he was in a good mood. Warmth suffused Ardyn inwardly from the release and outwardly from the caresses of his hands. When his skin cooled, the memory would yet remain.

Nestled beneath his arm, Prompto said, “You made it by thirty-five seconds.” 

Let the past's darkness take anyone who would say it was strange to be proud.

* * *

Hot water cascaded down Ardyn's back. He had forgotten, in his long exile from human feeling, the unique comfort that could be found in being indoors and warm to the consternation of the soft morning rain tapping its fingers on the window. Myriad places stung and ached at the touch of the water, and more at the touch of the towel, however gently he dried. The deeper ache of age was a strange novelty. He cleared away the fog from a portion of the mirror and admired the tapestry of whip marks, scratches, and bruises woven over the sizable loom of his body. They were a lovely match for the collar. 

The bathrobe did little to hide that he was already hard, but it was no great secret or surprise. _Days_ , Prompto had said after the escape from the waterways, and even over the sound of his own gasps for breath as he lay collapsed in his arms, Ardyn had noted the plural. 

“So what're you up to today?” Prompto said at the kitchen table over his bowl of cereal. 

“I was rather hoping you would decide.” 

“No, I mean.” Prompto's smile was full of promise, his as yet unsculpted hair falling into his eyes. “Like, physically. What are you _up_ to?” 

His bruises throbbed and he spoke the truth. “Anything.” 

The ropes wrapped his wrists around the reddened marks already there. It was an amusing power of the body, that merely lying on Prompto's bed with his arms bound above him soothed and excited him. 

Prompto took something from the dresser drawer that Ardyn could not see, however he craned his neck. “Actually, there's something kinda low-impact I've been wanting to do for a while.” 

When he turned, the small rectangular object in his hands was revealed as a camera. 

“Smile,” he said, as though Ardyn could help it. 

Though merely to model and be observed would seem to be a restful occupation, Ardyn soon found himself rather hard pressed. It involved not only posing as he was, but being retied in different positions and remaining still but pliant while his little master made soft considering sounds and moved him by half-inches. The twinges he felt, he realized slowly, were both aftereffects of the previous day's activities and simple age. Perfect stillness was no longer natural, as he was no longer in stasis. 

“Scooch a little left,” Prompto said, adjusting the gag in Ardyn's mouth. He wriggled in the hogtie. “There we go. Wow, your butt looks really nice that way.”

Ardyn preened at the praise. His thighs and shoulders soon grew sore, but he would not move an iota to mar the composition as his little master's light poured over him, arranging him as an element in Prompto's art. The rough rope caressed his wrists and ankles and the welts on his chest stung beneath his weight, making his desire an ever-increasing torment. As the camera clicked and whirred he bit his lip to prevent any noise that might break Prompto's concentration, and felt the flashes like the stroke of possessive hands. 

He gazed at the ceiling through lidded eyes and fell into reverie as Prompto moved him onto his back and into a new configuration of bondage. Ropes framed his pectorals and looped about his midriff, the places where they crossed sore flesh particularly delicious. Vaguely he noticed a photograph on the dresser that had not been there before; Noctis before a waterfall, half-posed, caught in an offguard laugh. 

“Are you quite all right?” Ardyn said to Prompto, who had been taking some time. 

“Fine.” 

Ardyn lifted his head and looked down at the work taking place across his torso. “The lagomorph goes around the tree...” 

“Shut up.” Prompto snapped a rope against his stomach. “Man, the video made this look so easy.” 

“You engage in research on these matters?” 

“I'm dealing with a pervert who's got centuries of pervert experience, man. I need all the resources I can get.” While Ardyn was rather pleased to hear of those efforts, he tugged on a section of rope by his hip and looked dissatisfied. “It's supposed to be this cool diamond thing. It's more of a sexy trapezoid.” 

“The most erotic of the quadrilaterals.” 

“It'll work.” Prompto straddled Ardyn's thighs and pointed his camera downward. 

It must have met with his approval, as he took several more, rolling Ardyn about, turning him, adjusting him, lifting his chin with a touch of his fingertips. Ardyn was hard once more, and that too gained its due attention. Prompto adjusted the angle with tormentingly brief and erratic touches, and it took substantial biting of the lips to keep from making a sound and breaking his concentration. It was an amusing perversity that the light to Ardyn's darkness could be the flash of a camera over his naked flesh.

He was in his classic pose, wrists bound to the headboard, rather askew arrangements of rope patterning his torso, when Prompto nestled beneath his arm to share the results of his artistry. Ardyn's arm strained against the rope in a futile effort to embrace him, and his warmth and scent were as sweet a torment as the tickle of his yet unstyled hair. 

“Sure, it's a dick,” he said, as he displayed a sequence of photographs in the small window at the rear of the camera, “but it's in black and white, so it's a _classy_ dick.” 

“Oh.” Ardyn leaned against his bonds for a better look. “What an excellent framing.” 

The grandiose flattery he had intended failed him, leaving him only murmurs of appreciation as his little master flipped through the sequence of photographs and said _Check out the color on your nipples_ or _Man, the angle didn't turn out how I wanted_ or _Love that contrast._

“And this one! This is my favorite.” 

What he showed took time to visually decipher. Initially a confusion of bronze, earthtones, and rose with an accent of burgundy curls, in a moment it resolved to Ardyn's upper chest and the lower part of his face – his chin tilted to display the collar to advantage, his lips curled with indulgence. 

“My,” he said softly. 

Such permanency in these transient images. Even were they lost, it would forever be true that he had once been seen this way. These images, the arch of his back, the rope looped about his ankle, the muscle of his straining thighs – they were himself through Prompto's prism, the completion of an ownership. 

Prompto nestled close, perusing his work. All was silent but for the rustle of leaves against the window as they shifted the patterned sunlight. 

“Your armpits are interesting.”

“Hm?” Ardyn focused his gaze on him, tilted from one intoxication to another. 

Prompto was indeed gazing at the underside of his arm, absently stroking. “Besides the purple hair. Just how the muscle is. Makes shadows.” 

“Mm.” Ardyn let his lids fall half-shut, lulled by attention and his aches. 

“Hey. Wanna know something weird?” 

Ardyn's voice rumbled from his throat, as though lying on his back had caused it to fall there. “Eternally.” 

Prompto laid his face against the armed that framed him, blue eyes curious and marvelous. “I want you.” 

For a long, still moment Ardyn believed he had misinterpreted another of his little master's everchanging figures of speech. 

Prompto's finger traced idly over his shoulder, a line of vivid sensation that passed over the rope marks of earlier games. His expression was quite curious, as though opening a box that could contain anything at all. “Sound good?” he said softly. 

In the midst of all the words that crowded one another immobile, Ardyn's breath came out in, “Yes.” 

No preamble would suffice, and thus, with none, Prompto grasped the hem of his shirt and began to lift it. Ardyn kept his breath still so as not to scatter the moment like motes of dust. It crossed his mind that this would be a truly magnificently cruel method to taunt him. And indeed, with a waveform of freckled stomach and a hint of navel exposed, Prompto paused. 

“Wait a minute. Why am I doing the work?” 

His shirt dropped back into place and he rummaged in the dresser until his hand emerged bearing a large, heavy knife, serrated near the base. 

“Gladio gave me this for camping.” He leaned over Ardyn and began working at the knots that decorated his torso. “Don't tell him I keep it in the dildo drawer.” 

“Your organizational methods are safe with me.” The flat of the knife brushed his skin, and Ardyn suppressed a shiver. Making his little master cut him unintentionally would be tantamount to theft. 

Hip, midriff, chest, the ropes fell, and Ardyn lifted his body from the mattress to let Prompto pull the remnants away and drop them to the floor. Prompto's eyes remained gratifyingly fixed. It was difficult, now, to imagine they had ever held a distant and considering cold. Strange, when he had hardly been concealed before, to feel quite naked now. 

The flat of the knife slid against Ardyn's left wrist and sawed the bindings free. Prompto had, of course, thought to choose the uninjured hand. 

“There.” Prompto gave a whip mark on Ardyn's flank a mischievous flick that made him purr. “Now get me naked.” 

“Gladly, little master.” 

He did not make it easy. He stayed barely within reach, so that Ardyn was made to lean precariously against the sole remaining point of anchorage. The bedframe creaked as he slipped his hand beneath the t-shirt's hem and pulled it upwards so that the sliding fabric revealed his freckled abdomen, the underside of his ribs, and a mesmerizing glimpse of a pink nipple before meeting the complication of a tangle of arms and becoming rather stuck. With muffled laughter and a nimble twist, Prompto assisted in dislodging the garment, leaving his hair mussed and the shirt dangling from Ardyn's hand. 

It fell, forgotten. There was no preventing Ardyn's freed hand from being pulled to that pale expanse, to let the backs of his fingers brush against his little master's flank. 

Prompto twitched. Ardyn froze.

Sheepishly, his little master smiled. “Ticklish,” he said, and drew Ardyn's hand back where it belonged.

That was license to explore, but Ardyn would not overindulge. Luck on this scale was too massive an object to be pushed. He luxuriated in drawing his fingers across the bas-relief muscles of the stomach, feeling them jump as Prompto stifled laughter. 

“You must keep a straight face,” Ardyn said. “This is a solemn occasion.” 

“Hey, I'm serious,” Prompto said. “Serious about gettin' that dick.” 

Then of course _Ardyn_ could not maintain his composure, and it all took rather some time to get anything useful done. Perhaps he was somewhat giddy from sex and indulgence. Yet he took care as he guided his hand along the waistband of Prompto's trousers, coaxing it down enough to caress with reverence the place at the hip bone where he had once earned the right to kiss. 

One-handed it was an awkward and lopsided task, pulling one side down a few inches and then the other, laddering downwards and revealing pale thighs, knees, and calves strong from hard labor. Ardyn took a moment to cup his hand about the muscle. Unaccountably, he was almost hesitant. It was a fearful thing to have an impossible desire so near to fulfillment. 

“Really,” Prompto said softly. “It's okay.” 

Ardyn allowed his hand to travel upwards and toy with Prompto's undergarment. He could see the shape of his cock clearly, and it put his heart to a gallop. How could he have ever taken liberties lightly, without awe? The body he now worshiped he had once manhandled as a means to an end, but that had been a different man. 

He hooked one finger into the undergarments and pulled them down, whereupon Prompto stepped free and then leapt on top of him like an acrobat taking the stage. 

“Oof,” Ardyn said unintentionally. 

Straddling him, his little master smiled down. “Hi.” He leaned forward, forearms planted across the welts on Ardyn's chest. “Mind if I get myself ready for the rodeo?” 

“Not...” Ardyn swallowed to repair the crack in his voice. “Not at all.” 

He could not see, entirely, what Prompto was doing with the hand that extended behind him. What he saw was his closed eyes, near enough to count the lashes, the tremble at the corner of his lips, and the arch of his neck. Each breath spilled across Ardyn's chest. A shift made Prompto's thigh brush against his cock, but not all the ingenuity of all the world's torturers could have coaxed him into making a sound that might break his little master's concentration. He barely dared breathe for wonder that Prompto was allowing him to see him in the terrible vulnerability of joy. 

“Okay,” Prompto whispered. He kissed Ardyn's collarbone, a warmth that carried along his pulse. “I'm gonna grab your dick now.” 

“How I adore your silver tongue.” 

“Dork,” Prompto said, and rode the rise of Ardyn's hips when the slick hand around his cock made him jump and pleasure swept his balance out from under him. 

It was to steady himself as much as anything that his free hand rested on his little master's side as Prompto, with a shift of his hips, took him in.

Ardyn's bound hand splayed, and the pain of the half-healed cut added an edge to the pleasure that stole his breath and shocked him silent.

“All right.” Prompto's eyes were half-shut, and he murmured as though to himself as he took in Ardyn's cock, halting, sinking and rising by inches. “Okay. That's...yeah.” 

A shiver wracked Ardyn's body. He had desired this too long to grasp it and his senses could accept it only in pieces, like a panorama constructed of his little master's weight on him, his knees pinioning his hips, his hand moving to plant itself in the center of Ardyn's chest. 

“Yes, little master,” he sighed, as his body rose to meet him. “Take your pleasure from me.” 

Prompto's lips twitched and revealed a glimpse of his teeth in a thoughtless and lopsided way that wrenched Ardyn's heart like a collapse of gravity. Each downthrust moved his back against the mattress and made his welts hum with deeper, sweeter pain, accentuating the delicious sensation of his little master seating himself fully. Bound and pinioned, he was caught in fascination, staring at Prompto's body's stark athleticism, the muscles in his midriff that flexed and bunched. His eyes were closed in concentration, and his knees squeezed Ardyn's sides with his motions. Unsculpted, his hair fell in his eyes. The offwhite ceiling formed a background that a photographer's careful eye would disdain, but Ardyn could ask for no image more indelible. 

Surrounded by him, Ardyn's body moved to please him and press his cock deeper inside. There had never been an achievement so pure as the moment when his little master's breaths became soft exclamations. Prompto moved more vigorously, giving himself over to seeking sensation, making the desires of his body master over the both of them. The bedframe creaked and the ropes tugged and scraped at Ardyn's wrist, and the thought of the red marks that would remain there in proof of this made him forget himself and reach toward him, hand suspended in the air between them. 

Prompto set his palm against his, fingers twining through and taking a secure grasp. His weight rested easily on Ardyn's arm. 

With a wild smile, Prompto said, “ _Now_ I can be a cowboy.”

For a moment Ardyn did not understand. Then Prompto put the leverage to excellent use. 

All he could do then was hold on as his little master rode him, sinking and rising on his cock as the bedframe rattled in time with his cries. Waves of pleasure crashed against the twinges of his welts until they were inseparable, and Ardyn was alive and wanted.

Prompto's hand tightened, astonishingly strong, and his head fell back as his movements lost coherence. Heat and wetness painted Ardyn's stomach, but his eyes did not move away from his little master's face. 

“M, may I...” he breathed, loins tight with effort, fumbling for the shape of words as Prompto arched his back and moved above him.

Prompto scratched down his chest, just as he liked. “Yeah.” 

Ardyn's hips rose, and as he shivered in bliss Prompto stroked the marks his nails had left. 

He was aware of everything, then; the sun through the window. The scent of sweat. The weight of Prompto as he curled by his side, and drew Ardyn's free arm across him.

* * *

Prompto wasn't really sure how he was supposed to feel, since there wasn't a whole lot of precedent. So he checked out how he _did_ feel now, after he'd made a decision that could change everything. 

Drowsy. Sweaty. Satisfied. Kinda hungry. 

Prompto lay with Ardyn's arm over him, watched the clouds go from one side of the window to the other, and let this feel good. 

Ardyn sounded pretty asleep, and he didn't move when Prompto slithered out from under his arm and got up. It was funny how normal he looked; so much of the weird was in his voice, so from the outside he was just a big, handsome older guy crossed by a sash of tangled-up sheet, one with a talent for sleeping sound even with one hand tied up leaving his whole flank open. You could feel guilty for all the marks and bruises on him, if it weren't for knowing that he'd thank you for each one and mean it. There was something freeing about a pervert that honest.

Prompto did a good stretch, went and got himself cleaned up, and pulled on some underwear before going to the kitchen for a snack. When he came back Ardyn's eyes were half open and he was watching. He looked like one of those action hero guys tied up in the part of the movie that probably wasn't supposed to be that hot. 

“Y'want some?” Prompto said, switching the plate to one hand so he could reach over to pull the knot loose. He'd gotten really good at the kind that were made to hold firm but be easy to untie. People on the internet made great tutorials. 

“What more could I desire,” Ardyn rumbled, “when I am replete from such a feast?” 

At first Prompto had thought it was amazing that there was anybody in the world who could say that kind of thing. The really incredible part was there was someone who could mean it. 

The mattress sank when he sat down. “It's cheese and crackers.” 

Ardyn sat up with a slow stretch and a crack of his neck, and they sat with the plate balanced between their knees and shared the dumb, glorious little sin of eating crackers in bed. 

“Sometimes on Sundays,” Prompto said after a while, looking out the window at the trees, “I'd come over, and we'd just have sex and nap all day. We'd keep meaning to go see a movie or something but we wouldn't. Sometimes he'd sit up and mess around with his phone and I'd go raid the fridge, then we'd end up making out again, until he'd say _Oh shit, Specs is coming over_ and we'd have to scramble around to get some clothes on so he wouldn't know.” He wiped crumbs from his lips and his eyes widened. “Oh my god. He always knew.” 

Ardyn laughed softly. Maybe it was cruel to talk about Noct to him now, but it wasn't like he ever forgot, either. 

One time, before they were _together_ together, back when Prompto was just realizing what it was like to have somebody you could say anything to, he'd told Noct _I think I have a thing for older guys_ , and Noct had laughed and said, _Dude, you have a thing for everybody._ Which had seemed like he was making fun of him, but then Noct said, _It's cool. Like, you appreciate everybody. You don't judge._

Thinking about it didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. 

“So hey.” Prompto's fingers tapped on Ardyn's thigh where it was leaning against his. Way bigger and solider, purple hair instead of blond. “Did you ever have anybody like that?”

“Oh, yes.” Ardyn's eyes went distant. “There was a herdsman, once. I would visit him on long summer nights in a peddler's guise. When mystery arrives some constrict into fear and anger, where others bloom. He was one who did not question, but embraced that the world was full of strangeness. We lay in the fields and watched the stars, and I withdrew gifts from my pockets; carven idols, beads of jade, a sextant.” 

“A who?” 

“A device for navigation.” Ardyn made some gestures that probably made sense if you were from a thousand years ago. 

“That doesn't sound like you could convince anybody it'd fit in your pocket.” 

“Not at all. That was the aspect that delighted him the most.” 

“Huh.” Prompto leaned back against the headboard. Right now it was easy to imagine Ardyn like that, out on a hillside teasing somebody with magic tricks. “Wait a minute. Tell me you pulled cards out of your hat.” 

“My dear, marvelous little master.” Ardyn's gold eyes were full of all the jokes he could finally share. “Of course I did.”

* * *

It was like kicking a door down. After all this time not having sex with Ardyn, suddenly it was hard to do anything else. All Prompto had to do was say, “So, hey,” and there they were. Or his eyes would slide over and Ardyn would bend over the counter and actually _say_ “Come hither,” or he'd just slither by like he did, or kind of smirk, or he'd come out of the shower all fresh with a towel tied not very securely around his hips and end up needing another one. 

That was okay. They had a bunch of hot water and all the time in the world. 

He fucked Ardyn on the couch, against the wall, on the floor even though the bed was like five steps away. It was like the time a few years into the night when he'd found a two-liter bottle of orange soda in the wreck of a supermarket, and he'd gone crazy and guzzled the whole thing without even thinking about any really confused daemons that might be standing there watching. He couldn't get enough. The more he felt his skin next to his, the more he wanted. 

Even while they were working Prompto wanted him, and he'd have to try to shove it out of his head long enough to get anything done. He'd look up from sawing boards, catch a glimpse of Ardyn laughing at something one of the crew had said, and then nearly saw his own foot off. 

So he'd grab Ardyn by the sleeve and steal a second to kiss him hard behind a halfdone brick wall.

“Is this what it's been like for you all along?!” he panted out, in between sucking on Ardyn's neck. “How do you even deal with being this horny all the time? 

“At this point, little master,” Ardyn said with his head lolling back, “practice.” 

Of course, Prompto didn't always make it easy on him. Once he tied Ardyn naked to a chair, ankles and knees and wrists and elbows and declared, “I'm just gonna sit here, as long as it's nice and quiet.” 

He really did work hard to be obedient. All the while Prompto was seating himself on his cock he didn't move a muscle or make a sound, and it wasn't until Prompto had worked up a good sweat by grabbing onto the armrests and fucking himself that he heard the whisper, “Mercy.” 

Prompto was nice and gave it. Well, after a minute. 

It just felt right to keep falling into bed. It was like if you'd resisted trying a new food for years and years because it was weird and wrong to all your other senses, and when you finally got brave, it turned out to be delicious.

“You're like sushi,” Prompto said into Ardyn's chest one morning after sex and before they'd be to the worksite just a little bit late. He walked his fingers up to Ardyn's neck and ran them around the edge of the collar. 

Ardyn smirked and tilted his head into the pillow, which was buried under messy purple hair. “Why thank you.” 

“Hey. Think you can go again?”

“I may,” - a deep breath - “require a moment.” 

“Woohoo! I did it!” Prompto pumped a perpendicular fist in the air. “I outfucked a sex zombie!” 

“That is not precisely what I am...” 

“Sure, but you wanted to get laid, right? Better be careful what you wish for.” 

“Never have I been,” Ardyn murmured with his eyes half-closed, “and never shall I be.”

* * *

With Noct it had been like a dog, always trotting next to him with alert little steps, looking out for him. It was constant and loyal, and kept him brave when he was alone. 

With Ardyn it was like a cat. It snuck around when Prompto wasn't looking and got into things it wasn't supposed to, no matter how hard you tried to keep it out. It sat and watched him from the far side of the room when they were having dinner, or jumped up and got in the way when they were having sex. It poked its nose in and sniffed around when they were working, and wound around Prompto's feet when he watched from a distance as Ardyn struggled with the rubber band stuck in his ponytail until Margolaine, a teenage girl on their crew, solemnly handed him a scrunchie. He could hear it tear-assing around in the hallway when he woke up in the middle of the night under Ardyn's arm. Mostly it just sat with its paws curled under, eyes half closed, so quiet that you only knew it was there if you remembered to look.

It was that part of springtime when the air started not just feeling but smelling warm. The flower buds opening up shouldn't have been that exciting, but they made Prompto's heart beat fast. The whole world changing around you was so weird after a decade where everything was always the same. He must've taken a hundred pictures of fresh new leaves while he marveled at what Noct had given them back. 

They were waking home in the evening, carrying a crate between them. Everybody was used to judging how many vegetables to plant by the scraggly yields they got from living on elemantic energy pulled from the earth, so now that the sky and soil were full of life they all had more spinach and carrots and onions than anybody knew what to do with. He had one handle and Ardyn had the other, and they walked on sidewalks they'd paved under streetlamps they'd put up. 

Prompto felt strange and bare that day, like being naked in the rain. Like the whole experience was new and his body was feeling in surround sound. Maybe it was just all the sex he'd been having. He felt...well, for one thing, his arm was aching. 

“Heavy,” he groaned.

“Pray, leave the burden to your loyal thrall—“

“I mean I gotta set it down for a sec.” 

They stepped over onto the grass and let the crate down with a thud. Prompto leaned back to stretch for a second, then couldn't stop looking upward. 

“Woah,” he breathed. 

There were so many stars. They shone down out of a deep, rich black, clustered together so close you couldn't call any one of them alone, everywhere except for the silver coin of the moon. It was so strange not to have an empty sky. 

“There never used to be so many,” Prompto said. “Back when I lived here, I mean. As a kid. You couldn't see much because of all the light. I only ever saw it like this when I was out with Noct and them, out camping. It was crazy to see for the first time. Like he gave them to me.” 

“And now he has given them back.” Ardyn's ponytail flowed down his back as he looked up. “Ten thousand suns that can be gazed upon without pain.” 

Prompto sat down on one end of the crate. There were things in the back of his mind that he'd been stirring now and then, like how Ignis would get up and go stir something on the stove on some internal timer that never failed. “You did, too.” 

Ardyn sat on the other end. “I did?” 

“Yeah.” It was always easier to talk in the dark. “If it'd been up to me and the guys, like, if there'd been a choice: have the sun come up or keep Noct...” 

They'd been doing all right, even with the daemons. They could have kept it up forever.

“Ah,” Ardyn said softly. 

“Yeah.” Prompto looked out to some bushes where the crickets were chirping. They only had half the time they used to. They must have been so confused for a while. “It's funny. The only ones who really wanted him to do the destiny thing and kill you were you and him.” 

Ardyn said, “How well I remember my last night as a monster.” 

“It's weird, you know?” The cool night breeze felt good on Prompto's face. “These days, it matters less that you were there on the wrong side than it does that you were there.” 

He tried to find patterns in the stars, though he wasn't sure which were real constellations and which were stuff he was making up. Who got to pick these things, anyway? He let his eyes wander around and listened to the frogs a while until he was brave enough to ask.

“What was it like at the end?”

Ardyn knew what end he meant. There was only one that mattered. 

“It was,” he said, “all the battle I could have wished for. A fitting last glory before the curtain fell. He was a implacable foe – ah, what fury that inspired in me. A final irony, as well. For all the painstaking work I had gone to in order that his hatred would burn brightly enough that my destruction would be worth the sacrifice, in the end, it went entirely to waste.” 

Prompto could hear his slow, even breathing. He must have been looking up at the stars, too, maybe measuring them against the ones he'd seen a thousand years ago. He remembered from science class that those things changed, but it was so slow that no normal person had to worry about it. Soon more and more people would come back to Insomnia, and all the lights would come on, and this would go away. Things changed; Ardyn would have to know that better than anybody. But just because you'd lost something didn't make it any less good to have. 

“Would you like to know something strange, Prompto?”

Prompto leaned against him, resting his shoulders on the warm, solid back. “Yeah.” 

“My last memory of that life is of his mercy.” 

Yeah. That sounded right. 

Noct had spent a long time looking at that painting of Ardyn on a black chocobo with his arm raised up, the one with all those people throwing flowers. Prompto had been through that hall a thousand times and he'd never seen that one before. Ardyn must have wanted someone to know, and must have counted on a king with the weight of the world on his shoulders taking a second to look and remember. 

“What about after?” It was easier to talk when he was saying things to the shadows of buildings under the stars. “There was something else, wasn't there? A place he had to follow you. To finish it.” 

Ardyn was quiet so long Prompto started to think he'd fallen asleep, or that this was the one thing he wasn't supposed to ask. 

“It is difficult to grasp,” he said, finally. “The dimensions involved were not made to fit in the space of a mortal mind. I recall his presence in the vastness, and a light that scoured away the filth of what I was. What was left I could hardly recognize, after all this time.” 

Prompto's fingers wrapped around the edge of the crate and pressed tight. “What I can't stand is how he had to do the last part alone.” 

“Not at all,” Ardyn said with quiet surprise, shoulders shifting against Prompto's as he half turned. “Were you not aware? You were there among the rest, ever by his side.” 

All Prompto could say was, “Oh.” 

The breeze played with his hair, feeling cooler now that they'd been still for a while. The rim of the crate was digging into his butt. He lay back so he was flat with his legs dangling off the side and his head resting on Ardyn's knees. Prompto looked up at the stars, listened to the night sounds, and pictured himself there with Noct on the other side just when he'd needed him.

“Hey Ardyn.” 

“Yes?” 

“Do you think frogs have favorite bug flavors?” 

Ardyn's fingers brushed absently through Prompto's hair. “I cannot imagine that they don't.” 

Some of the buildings had lighted windows where people lived, maybe a few of them places they'd fixed up themselves. People were safe and so were they, even out in the dark, here with the whisper of the grass weaving around on the wind like a cat twining through the legs of a dog that would always be with him. There wasn't any reason to move for a while. It felt nice.

“Hey Ardyn?”

“Hm?” 

Prompto let his eyes slip closed. 

“I think I love you.”


	23. Epilogue

As he had countless centuries past, Ardyn sat in the shade and watched the pilgrims go by. The early summer was rather warm, and he was glad to have a loose shirt with an open neck. Some time ago his little master had mentioned there was no more need to conceal the collar, as _”people'll just figure it's you having a weird fashion sense.”_ A fair assessment, given that Ardyn's proclivities were by now so well-known that others on their crew would make him a gift of anything particularly eye-catchingly hideous they discovered, such as the snakeskin boots and emerald paisley vest he currently wore and adored. 

The air at the base of the statue smelled of fresh grass and, less idyllically, cat food. A little black creature leapt onto the bench beside Ardyn, regarded him, and granted him permission to scratch its chin. This had become an oasis for strays, where felines lolled on the grass between the statue's stone feet and partook of offerings from paper plates. When some time ago a man with a look of importance had stood up at a meeting and demanded, _Would the King of Light approve of his memorial becoming a petting zoo?_ , the former advisor had for the first time in a great while taken to the microphone, paused with an impeccable sense of dramatic timing, and said, _Yes._

“You've many visitors today, haven't you?” Ardyn said to the cat as it sat and gathered its tail about its feet. “It's a special event. A grand opening. Oh, the throne room is undisturbed, but it would be a waste to let the entire extravagant monstrosity lie empty. Excitement will die down quickly, of course. Soon enough it will be a stodgy fixture traversed mostly by children on field trips and the elderly looking to get out of the rain. A suitable revenge, really.”

It had been less difficult than he expected to unearth the old memories and distill them for the historian's pen, now that he shared space with who he had once been. More than once the simple act of holding an object, feeling its weight, and letting his mind cross the gulf of centuries had shortened his breath and brought his little master's grounding hand to his shoulder. He had that, and he would have the price of five words he had named. The cat murred and leaned into his fingertips. 

“Fret not. _You_ will never lack for attendants. A landmark such as this quickly becomes a part of the lexicon. Why, I hear it said often between the young folks: 'Meet me at the King.'” 

The people walking by paid him no mind, aside from nods from a surprising number of those he had come to know through the months of work. They knew him as an eccentric Niflheimian, one of many former enemies, though only four other human beings alive knew quite how much of an enemy or how former. But who was he now? Only a person siting in the sun, awaiting a man who loved him. 

“Much of today's work was done with the assistance of a young historian, though certain others took a surprising interest. It was one of them whose hand created the final piece. Would you like to know a secret?” Ardyn leaned toward the cat and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “The King's Shield is a passable artist.” 

The cat attended this revelation by licking its paw.

“No gasps? I know what will interest you. There is a noodle shop on the corner of Third and Striking where a few strident miaows will surely induce the proprietor to part with a portion of roasted pork. He is generous to the friend of a friend.” 

It was a valuable piece of intelligence, as Ardyn could attest from his visit the previous night, when the four of them had been ensconced in the cozy, smartly-decorated building that still smelled of sawn wood and fresh paint. There had been, unexpectedly enough, a place set for him. The four bowls of noodle soup were topped with bamboo shoots and green onions in abundance, as though from a habit of slipping in vegetables wherever one could. Ardyn had had the discomfiting sensation of receiving a measured reward doled out for the good behavior of an unpredictable menagerie beast, a feeling forgotten at the first mouthful of broth.

 _”He does that,”_ his little master had explained over the sounds he made. _”It's a magic zombie thing.”_ When the bowls were drained to the dregs, he had been glad for the fortification. Then the Shield brought out pencil and paper and Ardyn shared the secret of two millennia. 

“Hey stranger.” The cat looked up as Prompto sat beside them, then returned to the business of being scratched. 

The corner of Ardyn's mouth curved. “I've heard it's dangerous to speak to those.” 

“Eh, a cat likes you.” Prompto stroked along its back with a look of thoughtless fondness that made Ardyn's heart constrict. “You can't be that bad.” 

They felt the sun and watched the crowd go by. Prompto did not ask if he was ready. He left it to Ardyn to stand, extend a gallant hand, and say, “Shall we?” 

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the indoors, but with the flexibility of human senses, soon the exhibits were all very clear. This was an interior he had paced in the night, with daemons gnashing their teeth in the plaza as he took dramatic satisfaction in his solitude. Now the stolid stones of the walls were well-scrubbed, and the velvet curtains were thrown aside to allow the streaming sunlight to glint upon the ranks of glass cases. The descriptions were, naturally, incomplete. Murmuring citizens inclined their heads over plaques that failed to mention _This comb emblazoned with an eagle was filched during a moment of stolen time,_ or _This picture book, a favorite of the Fierce's daughter, was plucked from a poorly-guarded shelf_.

Ardyn watched the bob of his little master's hair in the crowd. One did not need to forgive the past to build upon it. 

They did two slow circuits, passing an open doorway each time. Ardyn looked upon the worn clasp from the Pious's cloak (the fabric had crumbled with a dusty scent as he tugged the pin free) and let his mind wander. It had all come together quite nicely. His little master had a gift for organizing people with such carefree enthusiasm that no one was entirely certain how they had come to be in a place at precisely the right time and with all the required tools. Nor did he lack for ambition; this was the last stop before a new project in which he would travel the continent and document the new society in its infancy, to preserve the people, their hopes, and the face of a landscape soon to be lost to all but memory.

He had said, _”I got the idea from listening to you and Talcott talk.”_

For a moment, Ardyn entertained the idea of simply leaving with the last stone unturned. He could take Prompto by the arm and walk out the door, and he knew as he knew his name that there would never be any questions. In the end, what decided him was only a bit of stubborn pride and the desire to see his reward. Perhaps as well there was something to be said for the unobtrusive touch of his little master's hand to the small of his back. 

And so Ardyn slipped into the trickle of visitors between an elderly woman and a boy in dungarees, passed beneath an arch, and faced Somnus's regalia. 

An absurd contrivance, really. The heap of glowering spiked metal was better suited to its plinth than it had ever been to being piled atop a human man. 

“Were you so afraid to be seen as you were, Somnus?” Ardyn murmured to the mask of the coffin the first king had worn like a crabshell. “I suppose, then, I have had the last laugh after all.” 

He was not in much risk of being overheard. He felt a touch of rueful satisfaction to see that there were far fewer visitors clustered about the armor, familiar from sculpture, than there were around the framed piece of paper on the wall. He turned to regard it.

Ardyn's breath left him and the voices of the present faded to an oceanic rumble. He had seen the sketch, but not this, a completed work in a few sweeps of confident charcoal that caught the sharp lines and solemn brow that had for so long not lived outside of his own mind. His chest panged like a struck bell to see the feathering of hair that never would lie quite straight. The plaque claimed it, quite accurately, to be from contemporary description. And there, engraved in black letters in the midst of the ordinary folderol about what was known of the founder king's reign, was Ardyn's price. 

His little master was truly skilled. He chattered and drew the attention of the crowd so easily that none might notice the man who stood stock still, with his eyes locked on the words _His brother was a healer._

* * *

The sun stung Ardyn's eyes. It was bright in a clear sky and made the streets smell of warmed asphalt. Prompto's pale yellow pickup truck waited, the back piled with the stiff spider legs of lighting equipment. He would need an assistant to grapple with that, possibly one with a few scattered decades of experience behind the theater stage. Ardyn's little master ran up to the driver's side door with his characteristic boundless energy, and who could blame him? It was a marvelous experience, watching the life return to something that had lain dormant. 

Prompto climbed the running board, slapped the roof of the vehicle, and called to his partner, “Ready to see the world?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This all started because I wanted to write about Ardyn getting slapped in the face.
> 
> Somewhere along the line it turned into thinking about grief, amends, the social structure that would come from a group of people who lived through a decade of Monsterworld together, and how to rebuild from the ruins, not to mention every kink I could think of. I am incredibly grateful to anybody who's read along, and doubly to the wonderful reader who faithfully left a comment every chapter along the way. It was a labor of weird, kinky love, and I'm glad you all shared in it.


End file.
